Routes of Change Blog -https://routesofchange.org/blog/Tue, 08 May 2018 06:57:37 +0000en-USSite-Server v6.0.0-15121-15121 (http://www.squarespace.com)See, hear, read, and smell what we are up to.Race to the Philippines!sailingMarkus PukonenSat, 23 Jun 2018 11:38:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/piratesofthephilippines555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:59bbbbc1f43b55b154745776We spent the night bobbing around offshore in the dark, a bit concerned
about pirates and rocks.

Dave and I sailed out of Pelau for the 600 NM crossing to Siargao Island on the same day as Andy and Audra did in Cascadia, a Cape Dory 30, which is very similar to Dolce and also designed by Carl Alberg. We half joked that we were taking part in the inaugural Philippine Sea Alberg 30 race. The ocean was likely to still be a bit rough and disturbed but It was the first good weather window in a while.

We got a head start leaving the harbour but were soon headed into a strong wind. Andy had decided to motor out of Pelau (forfeiting his rights to claim victor of the non-existent race) and he soon passed the fully reefed Dolce beating into 30 knots of wind. The passage out of the barrier reef narrowed and a big ship was soon bearing down on us as we tacked back and forth across the channel. It was a bit stressful as we attempted to stay far out of it’s way which meant we were much closer to the shallow reef edges.

The wind direction soon improved and it took about ten more tacks to leave the barrier reef. There were several ships wrecked at the entrance to remind people how important it is to arrive to during the daylight hours. Nice waves were breaking on ether side of the passage. Nice for a surfer like me but likely terrifying for a novice in a boat.

As we left the protection of the reef the ocean swell immediately picked up and Dolce was once again subject to the pulse of the Pacific. We were now officially in the Philippine sea for the first time. The ocean wasn’t very settled and we had a healthy 20-25 knots of wind pushing us towards the Phillipines. Dave got sick after two days at sea. I don’t think it was anything I said.

We discovered we had gained a lot of sea room on our companions/competitiors who got the jump start on us with their motor. I was aware of one clear advantage we had on them.We used both sails. They didn’t. Andy had taken to sailing Cascadia with only his Jib due to the somewhat unreliable reefing system for his main sail. That’s a tough compromise to make.

We soon came across fishermen in tiny trimarans that buzzed around us like go carts. For some reason they reminded me of the wheelie characters from Return to Oz. I think Dave thought they were as dangerous as those characters too. The biggest threat they posed was having us pay too much for the fish they wanted to sell us.

As usual we arrived at night. We contemplated entering into the protected anchorage in the dark. I was tempted because my brother Trevor had already been waiting almost a week on shore. The unreliable charts showed a number of hazards and in the end we made the decision to heave to once again. We spent the night bobbing around offshore in the dark, a bit concerned about pirates and rocks. We arrived more than 12 hours ahead of www.sailingwithandy.com.

At first light the next morning we entered the reef as planned and it was very shallow. Luckily I had taken to the SUP to scout out the passage ahead of Dolce. The charts were horribly wrong and I soon dipped my paddle directly onto a reef. We turned around and anchored off of a nearby island about 6km from Siargao island where I was to meet Trevor. It was dumping heavy rain as we sunk the hook into the sand. I geared up and left Dave with Dolce. He didn’t feel good about leaving her all alone.

I SUPed the 6km across the reef to see Trevor waiting on the pier with a big grin. It was awesome to see him and discover that he’d organized a place to keep the SUP and a bike for me to ride. We rolled across the island to a little surf camp where we would stay and immediately lucked out. There was a decent swell coming in at one of the best breaks in Asia.We paddled out and into some heavy waves that were getting hollow on a shallow reef. I caught a few good ones but was clearly not in good paddling shape. I was soon dragged across the reef…which lucky for me was covered with a soft seaweed of some sort.

Dave eventually joined us the next day and we all surfed a much easier break nearby. My sister Tamsin arrived the night after that and treated us all to a nice dinner. After a few days Trevor needed to fly home. It was a short but sweet visit. Dave and I had not cleared customs and immigration into the Phillipines yet so we left shortly after towards an official port of entry. My sister decided to take a ferry. It was a good idea as we ended up taking longer than hoped.

To start the short trip off Dave and Dolce lightly kissed a reef while I was paddling not far away in deeper water. I ended up paddling 12 km before Dave turned off the motor and we started sailing again. We had lost enough time that we needed to spend another night in the Philippine waters dodging the hundreds of speedy little fishing boats. It was a party at night out there. Lights and engines everywhere!

The next morning we made a run through a narrow passage between two of the larger Philippine islands. We timed it perfect with a 6-7 knot current and some strong winds that saw us topping out at 13 knots (24km/hr), a Dolce record. We arrived at Surigao City harbour in record time to meet Tamsin. Unfortunately it was a Saturday and Immigration was closed for the weekend. On Monday Dave and I walked across the city to a small office and paid a few dollars to officially arrive in the Philippines. We passed a large protest parade about some mining injustices taking place. Dave left to fly to Taiwan and the sailing journey with my sister began! Would she mysteriously go missing in the Philippine waters or would we strangle each other to death? Find out in the next blog…

]]>The Rock Islands of PalausailingMarkus PukonenSat, 16 Jun 2018 23:18:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/palauiswhere555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:59bbb71a4c0dbf3491c9a92bwas bouncing around like crazy and ready to rip apart the dock at any
moment.

After my exciting arrival through the reef to Pelau and a calm nights sleep I spent the next morning getting the boat into a more respectable state. I was then informed that I would need to move Dolce. Not so easy for me to do without any wind or an engine. Thankfully my neighbours on Yacht Kate were awesome and offered to help. It wasn't easy or pretty but Steve and his dinghy managed to tow Dolce over to her new mooring.

I then SUPed my bike over to the dock and cycled 20 km across a few islands to the hotel where I was to meet Julie. The ride took me through the commercial center and most populous island of Palau, Koror. The country has built up a successful tourism industry catering largely to the Japanese and Chinese. Apart from the government officials I didn't meet many Palauns as many of the service jobs are handled by Filipinos or other foreigners.

Julie’s flight arrived quite late at night and she wasn’t expecting me to meet her at the airport. It was a pleasant surprise. My flesh eating bacteria wounds were not so pleasant of a surprise. After a few days on land I had the honour of introducing her to Dolce. Was she impressed? Hmmmm… I doubt it.

I gave her a brief lesson in how to turn on the engine and maneuver Dolce out of the harbour, something I had never done before. It was a pretty straightforward task but a boat certainly does not handle like a car. I knew (hoped) she’d be fine. I wanted her to take the helm and motor in and out of bays and anchorages that would have been dangerous and quite challenging to sail out of. It would enable us to go places that otherwise I would avoid due to my strict adherence to no motorized travel.

You may be asking yourself "Why bother?" Why not make an exception here and there and use the motor for convenience and safety. It comes down to a simple commitment and challenge that I made for myself. I know it’s possible, even though many people for some reason think it’s impossible. It’s a slippery slope when you start to slide. Why not just take one quick flight so you can get to that island to see your friend? Why not hitch a ride when your bicycle falls apart and it’s monsoon raining on you in the pitch black? Because I wouldn’t be doing what I said I was going to do. Because I already make enough compromises in life. Because it’s fun. Because it’s different. Because I can.

I was a bit nervous putting Julie at the helm all by herself without any practice and very little guidance but I was guessing that she was even more nervous, so I tried not to show my nerves. The fact that the charts in Palau are not super reliable and the depth sounder was only working every other time added to the stress. I hoisted up the anchor and hopped on my SUP, leaving Julie to start the engine and make her way out of the harbour between the two buoys that marked the shallow reef on either side of the entrance.

First mate Julie did a fine job and I was soon back on board raising the sails to go explore the Rock Islands of Palau. They are pretty awesome uninhabited jungle clad islands that pop out of the reefs like green mushrooms. Hundreds of them. The sailing inside the reef was by far some of the most pleasant sailing I had experienced on the journey. Having a talented and lovely first mate along for the ride made it that much better. Julie and I had planned to sail from Palau to the Philippines together where she had booked a flight home from, but the weather had different plans.

It might have been for the best as Julie was not feeling great on the calm waters in the reef. It is likely that she would have felt the full brunt of seasickness on the open ocean passage. Especially if I had decided to push on in marginal weather that other cruisers were avoiding. She was still keen to attempt the crossing but it was in part due to the fact that she had booked a flight and didn’t want the expensive hassle of changing it. I think she also wanted to prove herself a worthy seawoman. That she did!

Julie successfully maneuvered Dolce in and out of several tight reef passages without issue while I watched nervously from my Paddleboard. No nerves necessary. Like a pro. My Flesh eating wounds were looking good enough that I finally decided to get back in the ocean and do some snorkelling. I couldn’t pass it up anymore. I’m glad I didn’t. Crystal clear water and fascinating creatures awaited us below the surface.

Julie was bummed she wouldn’t be able to sail with me and she had an annoying time trying to change her flights. In the meantime we had met Andy and Audra who were also waiting for the weather to pass in order to cross over to the Phillipines. It turns out Andy and I had been sailing almost the exact route and boat across the Pacific and we had actually crossed paths in Majuro without saying hi to each other. He said it was my fault but I’m pretty sure it takes two…:)

Not only was the weather preventing Julie from Sailing with me but it also meant that I would be late to meet my brother Trevor in the Philippines. He was soon to arrive and would only be there for 9 days. I had also changed my mind state into thinking that from that point on I wouldn’t have to sail solo, which had briefly comforted me knowing how busy and challenging the waters of the Philippines can be under sail power alone.

Julie managed to figure out her flights and I emailed Dave to see if he was up for a little sail to the Philippines. Julie and I then sailed back out to the Rock Islands for some more exploring. When we returned a few days later I received an email from Dave saying he had booked a flight to Palau and would arrive in two days.

When Dave arrived we all went for some tasty Indian food and it started to torrential sideways rain. We parted ways after dinner in a full on storm. Julie and I had conveniently decided to sleep on shore that night. Shortly after we got to our room I thought it would be a good idea to call the marina to see how the boat was. I was on someone else's mooring who had informed that he would kick me off of it if a storm picked up and he needed to move his boat from the dock. This storm had come out of nowhere so there was no time to do so. I ran a km or so in the torrential sideways and arrived at the Marina to a much worse situation than expected.

The boat of the guy whose mooring Dolce occupied was bouncing around like crazy and ready to rip apart the dock at any moment. I asked him what I could do, knowing full well there wasn’t much I could do, or much I wanted to do. He was clearly a bit pissed. Not so much at me but at himself for having let me occupy his mooring. I gave him his space as he frantically figured out what to do. If he had insisted that I motor Dolce out of there I would have no choice, but boy am I glad he didn’t. He found an empty and equally secure mooring to use.

I was nonetheless curious how Dolce’s mooring lines were holding up and decided I would go check on them. Not happening. When I got to the end of the dock where the tenders and my SUP were tied I discovered nothing but the severed leash of my SUP. Dolce’s main tender was lost at sea.

The next morning I awoke early with hopes of finding the SUP somewhere down wind of where it was torn from the dock. I didn’t have to go far. I bicycled to the neighbouring bay where a big resort was located and spotted it up against the rocks of a nearby island. I jumped in the water and swam across the bay to discover she had survived the storm with just a few scratches.

Julie flew home the next night as Dave and I continued to eye the forecasts for a reasonable weather window. It wasn’t Typhoon season. We’d be fine right?…

]]>Love and Death or Fear and Life? sailingMarkus PukonenSun, 13 May 2018 00:27:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/itseatingmealive555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:5adece586d2a730adcfdec79I asked the universe what I should do but I couldn’t hear the answer over
the rattling lines and waves smashing off the hull.

My route moving forward was not set yet as I had a little bit of time to spend exploring Micronesia before I was to meet my friend in Palau. I was hoping I might find some surf but I was not sure where yet. As always I was letting the weather and forecasts make much of the route planning and decision making for me. Some of the islands I wished to visit would have involved clearing back in through customs, immigration, and quarantine and paying each once again. Unfortunately the different states of Micronesia require this in each new state. I needed to clear in and out of Kosrae and would have to do the same if I were to visit any of the islands in Chuuk, Yapp, or Pohnpei. Due to my limited time I decided I would avoid the other main islands and possibly stop at some of the smaller outer atolls that do not have the officers or interest in upholding the annoying and expensive bureaucracy.

After a few days of sailing westward I heard an unfamiliar sound on the Ocean. Pheut pheut pheut pheut pheut pheut. Seriously? I was well over a few hundred miles from the nearest airport or town of any significant size. Could it really be a helicopter or was it official, had I begun to experience full hallucinations on the Ocean? Then I spotted it! It was indeed a helicopter heading my way and I’m pretty positive I wasn’t hallucinating. I then remembered the helicopter pilots I had met in Majuro who were working as fish spotters for the Chinese Tuna boats. It flew overhead and I could see the pilot checking me out. I signalled to my radio but I don’t think he got the message. After a few circles he took off into the horizon and I never spotted him again or the boat that he would eventually land on. The boat that was likely filled with Filipino workers getting paid about $200 a month to make thousands and thousands for the helicopter pilot, the captain, and the owners of the boat.

I sailed west for 6 days keeping a safe distance from the atolls that I could see on my charts. I decided I would aim to stop at Lekenioch Atoll. My research had revealed it to have a good safe entrance into the lagoon and a good anchorage in front of the friendly settlement. I spotted it on the horizon in the late morning and was excited that I may be able to sail directly there without needing to hove to for a night. This would be the first and only time on a passage that I would be able to do this.

I found the entrance to the lagoon easily and sailed through a gap between two coconut lined islands. As I entered the lagoon I was surprised to see another yacht sailing towards me. We made radio contact and I discovered they were leaving after a week there. The Aussies had nothing but good things to say about the Atoll. They informed me I was arriving in good time as there was a feast happening later that day. I was a bit disappointed to not meet them in person but also happy to be the only visitor at the Atoll.

I sailed up to the town and searched for a good place to anchor. A group of kids came out to a pier and attempted to get me to come alongside it. It certainly looked a bit too shallow and I was happy to be anchored offshore anyways. I sailed back and forth a few times looking for a good wide sandy spot without any reef around. It’s very easy to do serious damage to reef with your anchor or your chain, not to mention the reciprocal damage to your chain and/or getting your anchor stuck in the reef. I found a good spot and then sailed downwind to it with about 2 knots of speed and dropped the anchor. Most boaters will use their engine to set their anchor in the sea bottom but it can be just as effective to do it in this manor. I never dragged the anchor once while onboard Dolce. I have to thank Dave for equipping her with good hooks and sufficient chain.

After settling in and patting myself on the back for another successful passage (I didn’t actually do that, but I will right now, you should too, you deserve it, for something I’m sure.), I hopped on to one of my three surfboards and paddled to shore. I was met there by a friendly guy named Serfer. He spoke decent English and invited me to join him down the path. I was lead to an open air community hall-like space that was packed with what looked like all of the adults from the community. A ceremony was already under way and I was directed to a primary school desk and chair combo that was placed in the second row of a large rectangle of about 100 men and women sitting at similar desks. The women on one side, Men on the other.

I sat and listened as elder after elder was introduced and entered into the centre of the space to say a speech to a group of men who appeared to be the guests of honour or chiefs of some sort. Each elder would speak for about ten minutes in Chuukese. At one point some women came around and handed out candy necklaces to everyone. Then absolutely massive plates of food with plastic wrap covering them were placed in front of everyone there. A Kool Aid like drink was also passed around.

I was soon informed that this was a feast in honour of a new chief. Some of the women were dressed in what looked like more traditional flower patterned dresses but most of the men were in western clothing. A few of the elder men were wearing simple toga like dress. The new chief was wearing a simple white dress shirt and blue trousers. Towards the end of the ceremony he was presented with a small rope head band with two knots tied in it that gave the appearance of little ears.

At the end of the ceremony the most amazing smelling and beautiful looking Lei’s were placed on all of the Men’s heads, including mine. This was the first real Lei I had experienced and it was wonderful. The smells of the flowers brightened my mood instantly. I was still yet to meet anyone there except for the guy who brought me and the people sitting on either side of me. I was feeling a bit rough and unfortunately did not have a large appetite for the feast that was placed in from of me. To my surprise at the end of the ceremony most of the people took their plates and left. I was relieved I would not be forced to eat copious amounts of food while feeling slightly nauseous.

As many guests were making there way out some younger children came to the centre and did a dance performance for the new chief. It seemed to be some sort of Latin pop dance. It was cute and the new chief enjoyed it. Not what I was expecting when they told me there would be a dance performance.

After the dance I was introduced to many more of the guests, including the new chief. They were friendly and asked a few questions but If they were seriously interested in me they did a good job of hiding their curiosity. Perhaps they could tell that I was not feeling so great.

After the feast my new friend/guide/host of Lekenioch Atoll showed me around the village. Serfer took me to his house and I met his wife and kids who were awoken from a siesta on the solid cement floor.

We then walked along the small path that looped around the village. There was once a single truck on the island but it was no longer in use. A few bicycles still existed but it was easy to walk everywhere. Most of the houses were cement squares with aluminum roofing but some of the traditional palm thatch buildings were still scattered about. I was keen to explore and hang out more with Serfer but I was feeling rough and in need of a rest. I told him I would come back tmw and paddled my surfboard back to Dolce.

At this time two big zit like things had formed on me, one on my lower leg and one on my butt. The skin was not broken but they already appeared to be infected. Swelling and redness was present. What was going on with my body!!!

The next day Serfer came out and insisted that I let him scrub the bottom of my boat. I assumed he wanted something in return but he said he didn’t. I couldn’t refuse the offer. I had many things on the boat that I didn’t need anyways and was happy to gift some things to a man on an island with nothing to buy but rice, oil, sugar, and a variety of non-food edibles. I had more than enough fishing gear which I wasn’t wrong in guessing he would be stoked and appreciative to take off my hands.

After he scrubbed my boat he paddled me into shore on his little outrigger canoe and brought me to his uncle who happened to be the healer (or witch doctor as Serfer called him) on the island. When we arrived he was chilling in his small traditional thatch house reading a book about medicine in english. He took a look at my leg and prescribed me a little bottle of coconut oil and some herbs of some sort mixed in with it. I liked him. He was a calm and curious elder of about 70 yrs I would guess. He also let Serfer climb his coconut tree to provide me with a load of coconuts for the journey.

In the area around the doctors home it was pretty clear that there had been some very recent flooding. Serfer told me that the whole island was more at risk during big tides. It was quite possible that I would be one of the last one hundred visitors to the Atoll before everyone would be forced to relocate due to rising sea levels.

We walked around the island and stumbled across a party that soon became a dance party! It was mostly a sober party except for one or two very drunk folks who had been drinking some homemade moonshine. We danced to a variety of international pop songs. They loved my moves and I’m pretty sure one of the drunk guys was hitting on me and wanted me to come back to his place. It was a bit awkward but the rest of the folk just found it funny.

I would have happily stayed longer at Lekenioch but time was running out to meet my friend in Palau and I was also becoming more and more concerned about my swollen leg. I was optimistic but a bit skeptical about the witch doctors concoction. I had the feeling oil would slow the healing process but in reality I was clueless as to what would help.

I left Lekenioch Atoll loaded with coconuts for a 1200 mile sail to Palau. It wasn’t long before I was questioning the possibility of losing a limb to infection. My leg had continued to swell and become painful as the swelling and redness reached my foot. The sore on my butt was also a concern. I was having a tingling sensation through my body when I was in the sun.

I used my satelite device to text a doctor I had met in Oregon who had offered assistance to me if I was in need at anytime during the journey. I also texted my buddy Dave who knew a thing or two about herbs and random healing techniques. The Doctor said I needed immediate hospitalization for IV antibiotics. That was not so comforting or what I needed to hear. I was a 5-12 day sail from the nearest hospital. The closest one was in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go and would mean I would miss my friend in Palau. There was also the risk that the wind would not cooperate in getting me there. There would be a good hospital in Palau but it was likely a 12 day sail away.

To put it lightly, this was a big decision for me to make. I always think it’s better to make your decisions from a place of love as opposed to fear but in this situation that could have led to death as opposed to life. The friend who I was going to meet was more than just a friend. The swelling on my leg was more than just a minor concern. There was no clear answer for me. I wasn’t yet feeling like I was in need of immediate medical attention nor was there any guarantees that if I changed my course I would reach it faster. My instinct wasn’t helping too much. I asked the universe what I should do but I couldn’t hear the answer over the rattling lines and waves smashing off the hull.

Although the thought of amputation or worse did cross my mind I didn’t let those thoughts dominate. I decided I would focus all of my remaining energy on healing. After a couple days the coconut oil concoction was no longer inspiring much confidence in it’s healing abilities. Dave suggested I make a tea from all the herbs in my galley(kitchen) to drink and also to use as a skin wash. I used garlic, thyme, oregano, ginger, turmeric, and possibly something else to make a big brew of potent tea. It tasted like it was going to help me. The brew lasted two days and then I made another one. By the end of the second brew the swelling was gone and the wounds were healing up.

I was making good progress towards Palau. Apart from the doctor and Dave I didn’t let anyone else know about the predicament I was in. There was enough worrying and fear going around without my friends and family knowing. If I thought anyone could help I would have contacted them right away.

I did ask my brother in law for a weather forecast. He told me that I should keep up my speed to Palau as there was a big low system heading my way. He said it was going to hit me either way but If I kept up my speed I might not feel the brunt of it. I always sailed Dolce as fast as she would go so his advice on keeping up my speed was not much help to me. Dolce’s hull speed (or max speed) is about 7 knots (13km/h).

On my 8th night of the passage I woke up from a dream and heard something smack on the hull. I climbed out on deck and couldn’t see anything but a massive tanker a couple miles from me. It was the first boat I had seen since leaving Lekenioch and it looked massive on the horizon. Two miles may seem like a big distance but out in the middle of the ocean it felt too close for comfort. I made radio contact and discovered they were destined for Japan with a cargo of coal from Australia.

The next day I noticed hundreds of birds having a feeding frenzy ahead of me. I then realized there was a massive school of tuna feeding on other small fish. It gave me hope that the hundreds of Chinese tuna fishing boats I had seen in Majuro might not be successful in wiping out all of the tuna.

Later that day I climbed out on deck and noticed a big fin off the stern of Dolce. What’s that following me!!! It was a whale that seemed a bit longer than the boat I was currently sailing and keen to check me out. I was stoked to say hello. It followed me on the surface for about a minute and then I lost sight of it. At the time it didn’t occur to me that it could potentially be aggressive with Dolce. It’s not uncommon for whales to hit boats if they feel they are trying to make moves on (or pick up/kill) their partners. The Moby Dick story is based on very true events.

The weather ended up hitting me three days earlier than forecast. The wind did anyways. 30+ knots of it. I was fully reefed on a beam reach flying towards Palau at a consistent 7 knots. The waves soon built up to 3-4 meters with about a 6-7 second period. Thankfully the wind wasn’t quite strong enough to make them brake across Dolce or it would have been a much more uncomfortable ride. Nonetheless, I was consistently needing to make adjustments to keep Dolce and the windvane on course.

I arrived off of Palau at night and hove to until dawn to make my final approach. The wind was the strongest off the passage as I approached what was going to be my most technical sailing of the journey. The entrance into Palau from the east is a meandering passage through shallow reefs. Some reefs and islands provided protection from the big swells but I still needed to deal with the strong winds which would become shifty as I entered the tricky reef passage that had some wind shadows from islands.

Things always tended to happen a whole lot slower than expected on the sailboat. Dolce and I were ready to enter the reef hours before I finally arrived at the entrance buoys. Funny enough I arrived at the exact time as the only other boat in sight. It was a U.S. Coast guard boat and in my attempt to give them space I didn’t leave much room for Dolce to enter. At the last moment I made the smart choice to tack back away from the entrance and have much more sea room to enter safely. It was much more relaxing on the return to have the entrance to myself without the coast guard looming over my shoulder.

As I entered the reef passage the waters became much calmer and it was easy to see the reef on either side of the 100m wide passage. There was a sharp turn in the channel ahead which I expected would force me to tack back and forth a number of times but as I turned the direction of the wind also changed enabling me to continue for a while longer without tacking.

I then came to a fork in the road according to my charts and I chose the route that appeared to be the safest. As I did so a glass bottom tourist boat came near to me and could see that I was under sail power alone. We made eye contact and some hand signals to clarify our course intentions. It was nice to communicate with someone again.

After about five tacks back and forth I was clear of the reef and into some mostly open water that fronted the port area. The wind again changed direction and picked up to a strong 30 knots coming straight at me. I needed to fully reef Dolce and she was still heeling over drastically at times.

I attempted a number of times to contact the harbour officials but no-one was answering my calls. The U.S. Coast guard guys responded and suggested I try a different channel but I had no success there either. After zig zagging back and forth across the harbour for a half hour I came close to where a mega yacht was tied to a high cement pier area. I noticed a worker in a high vis vest signalling me to pull in behind the Mega yacht. I needed to do a 180 in order to do that. This would be my first ever attempt at sailing Dolce (or any boat for that matter) up to a pier or dock. No pressure. It’s not like I was pulling up next to a multi-million dollar yacht with 30 knots of wind and gravel blowing against me from a solid cement pier with no rubber or padding anywhere…. Actually it was exactly like that.

As I came alongside the mega yacht it blocked all of my wind which I had expected and had already dropped the sails. I was moving very slow at this point anyways. I was able to exchange a few words with some of the crew on the yacht and they could see I would appreciate some help. One of them grabbed a spare line and ran ahead to where I would pull Dolce in to the dock. As I got close he threw me the line and I threw him one of mine. It turns out I did an excellent job of guesstimating how much speed I would need in order to float up to the dock perfectly. Dolce coasted to a stop and I was able to gently pull her towards the pier.

The moment she was secure on the pier the wind gusted strongly and blew gravel dust all over me and Dolce. Not the most welcoming way to arrive in Palau. Then the Immigration arrived with smiles and informed me that I would have to pay overtime fees on top of already exorbitant yacht clearance fees because it was lunchtime. 11am. I said I would wait until after lunch and was in no hurry. I could tell they usually wouldn’t let that slide but I think they relented after considering how cheap and desperate Dolce and I appeared. It turns out I didn’t have to wait until after their lunch and an hour later I had been cleared by each of the immigrations, customs, and quarantine officers.

I sailed off of the dock (another first) and headed out of the port towards the protected harbour where all of the other yachts were moored. Of course the wind was blowing directly out of the harbour and there was a narrow entrance with reef on either side. It would take me three attempts before I was able get a good safe line into the harbour and avoid kissing the reef. I might have been able to do it the first time but I was in no mood to risk a reef kiss. As I entered the harbour one of the marina staff came out and helped direct me towards a mooring. I nervously sailed over to it and tied up dolce with a sigh of relief. A mild understatement.

I had just completed a 1700 mile passage from Kosrae to Palau with a few days on Lekenioch Atoll midway. The deck was filthy and so was I. I cleaned her up and headed to shore with the laundry. I met a bunch of drunken sailors and shared some good banter before leaving them to start cleaning myself, the laundry, and Dolce, in anticipation of my new first mate who was to arrive the next evening.

]]>Love and Death or Fear and Life?Flesh Eating in ParadisesailingMarkus PukonenThu, 26 Apr 2018 13:28:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/flesheatinginparadise555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:595457dc440243d0952fe05fas soon as I got on deck the wind jumped from 15 to 30 knots with sideways
hail to top it off! It’s moments like these that you wish you could share
with a buddy.Now that I’ve got your attention I should warn you that if you are sensitive to graphic imagery you may not want to proceed. It’s not what you expect. Or maybe it is.

I left the Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI) on December 17th for a short 500 NM Passage to the Island of Kosrae in the Federated States of Micronesia. After my boom vang tragedy on my first attempt to leave I was relieved to get under way once again. I decided I would sail a few hours down the atoll away from the main harbour and the polluted waste water. The hull needed a clean of all the growth (barnacles) that had built up over the past month.

I dropped anchor about 500 m from another yacht and dove in to start the nasty process. The act of cleaning the hull was one of my least favourite things to do on Dolce. It truly is the dirty underwater secret of the otherwise fairly eco friendly act of sailing. Anti-fouling paint is designed to keep life from growing on the bottom of your boat. In other words it is poison that is consistently being released into the marine environment. It’s on a small scale and pales in comparison to industrial waste streams that lead into the ocean but it still makes a difference. I was not stoked. Of course I was also in the water when it was powdering off the boat as I scraped the mussels from her hull. If it kills marine life I’m sure it’s not too beneficial for my health either.

I was happy to join my neighbours from New Zealand later that evening for some snacks and a drink. It’s always fun, inspiring, and a little bit challenging getting to see other cruisers cabins and rigs. There is a large variety of boats and ways to live on them. Dolce was on the cheaper and less comfortable side of things. It was challenging to see how much more streamlined, luxurious, and comfortable some people’s boats were.

With the hull feeling smooth and looking more hydrodynamic I lifted anchor the next morning and tacked my way back out of Majuro Atoll. I had literally forgotten how rough and loud the open ocean can be. I was immediately back into 2-3 m waves and 20knots of wind. I apparently wasn’t ready for it. It took a lot of energy to adjust back to the rollercoaster ride that Dolce was.

I must clarify that I wasn’t in fact in the complete open Ocean as I was still surrounded by the many atolls that make up the RMI. This meant that for the first couple days I needed to be extra cautious to not stray from my course and run into an atoll at night. It also meant that there was some interesting convergence of currents and swells that made for a rough ride.

As I left the Atolls of the Marshall Islands behind me I was exhausted and ready for decent sleep. The ocean was still unsettled but I managed to get a few four hour sleeps in. The first few days of a passage always seem like the longest and hardest as you adapt to life at sea. Dolce wasn’t soft with me and she scraped and cut me a number of times. The knee that I had scraped previously was also not healing so well.

The weather was being a bit erratic and I was frequently waking up in the middle of the night to accidental gybes. A gybe is a maneuver you use when sailing downwind to alter your course. The stern passes through the wind, such that the wind direction changes from one side of the stern to the other. It can be done safely but if it happens by accident the boom swings violently across the boat. This can be very dangerous to anything in it’s way and damage the boat easily. It is not a pleasant sound to wake up to. Nor is it the easiest thing to deal with after being deep asleep.

I once woke up with a feeling that the wind was picking up and it was time to reef. The anemometer wasn’t showing high wind speeds but as soon as I got on deck the wind jumped from 15 to 30 knots with sideways hail to top it off! It’s moments like these that you wish you could share with a buddy. It was only 5 days but it was no easier than the previous 20 day solo passage I had completed.

I arrived off the coast of Kosrae as the sun was setting (once again with a night time arrival). If I had maintained my speed for the next couple of hours I would have been able to arrive in the harbour before sunset. If the wind died and I wasn’t able to get into the harbour I would be dangerously floating close to shore (or forced to motor to avoid being reefed). I made the decision to put on the brakes and wait until daybreak to make my approach. I hove to and stalled Dolce for the night, excited and a tad nervous for what may come with the rise of the sun.

I awoke to see the green mountains of Kosrae rising out of the sea. I had heard that charts were unreliable for much of Micronesia and that became clear with one of the navigational aids that I use on my phone. If I had navigated with it in the dark I would have ended up high and dry on a reef. In the daylight the entrance to the harbour was quite clear and I was able to safely sail up to a nice anchorage spot in front of the hardware store.

I had company from a nice looking yacht hailing from the San Juan Islands which are just south of my neck of the woods on Vancouver Island. The friendly couple informed me that I should expect long delays and several days in clearing in through immigration, customs, and quarantine. Shortly after I heard a honk from shore. I quickly inflated my SUP and paddled over. I was welcomed by the immigration officer. Within a half hour I had shook hands with all the necessary officers, paid my fees, signed the documents, and was cleared into the Federated States of Micronesia. Lucky me!

My knee was not in good shape. It had clearly become infected and was becoming painful. My neighbours took a frightened look at it suggested I visit the hospital, which was already in my plans. They kindly offered to shuttle my bike over to shore for me.

It got a whole lot worse looking....

I bicycled the 7 or so km to the one and only hospital on Kosrae. I’m not a huge fan of hospitals. They simply aren’t designed to be pleasant places for healing. The folks were friendly enough though. After a brief wait I was shown to a dimly lit somewhat sketchy room. A nurse took a look at my knee and cleaned it. The doctor prescribed me some antibiotics and said I could come back in a bit to check in if I wanted. I paid about $10 CAD and that was it.

Happy Winter Solstice

Kosrae is an exception to the majority of the Micronesian Islands in that it is a much younger volcanic island. It was interesting to learn that the more common low-lying atolls that are scattered everywhere across the seascape are in fact the elder remnants of volcanic islands. A simplified lifeline of an island in the Ocean goes something like this. Volcanic Birth forms landmass, often mountainous, - Coral reef forms around the island - Lagoons are formed as the land slowly erodes into the sea and recedes from the original outer reef. - The island completely disappears below the surface and all that remains is the barrier reef and small bits of soil and sand that have formed on top of it, This is an Atoll. As you read this Islands are slowly disappearing into the Ocean and new ones are being formed as Volcanoes reach the surface.

Over a thousand years ago the island was settled by a seafaring race with skills much further advanced than comparative societies of their time. They built a complex society and a stone city using engineering skills that are still not understood today. The city of Lelu where I made landfall was a small man-made island connected to the main island by a stone causeway. Its high walls and major buildings were built from volcanic basalt connected by paved pathways and canals. Today the remnants of these walls are one of the archaeological wonders of the Pacific. I found the ruins by a small unmarked trail that followed a fence line behind the grocery store. I didn’t see a soul as I explored the old city.

That's a wall beside me.

Traditionally a spiritual people, the Kosraens embraced the beliefs of the early Christian missionaries who followed closely in the wake of the debauchery and disease brought by pirate and whaling ships in the 1800s. It is rumoured that a large treasure was buried somewhere on the island by the notorious blackbirder Bully Hayes. By the 1870’s the entire population of the island had been christianized. “Ownership” of the island switched hands from the Germans to the Japanese and finally to the USA after WWII. It continues today as an United States associated state.

I never had any big or lofty expectations for discovering some sort of tropical paradise when I set sail on the Pacific. I was well aware that globalization, trade, and missionaries had been exerting influence on the islands for a long time. I was, however, genuinely excited to meet some islanders and learn a bit more about the culture.

The Kosraens had converted to christianity while still holding on to some of their traditions and style. Christmas was a special time on the island as each community created singing parades which they presented at the various churches around the island. A large proportion of Kosraens now live in the USA and many of them return for the festivities and had formed their own parading choirs for the week long festivities.

Each community would be in unique colourful dress and enter the church singing poly-harmonic songs. At the front of the church they would walk or dance in an array of different patterns as they continued to sing for up to 30 minutes straight. Occasionally some of the women would break off and enter the audience to put Lei’s on special guests (like Me, being a foreigner) and also offer gifts of chocolate and other random food. Towards the end there would be a dedicated time for them to accept donations from the spectators. I walked up and offered the little that I could. As they marched their way out of the church at the end they would throw tons of candy, instant noodle cups, and other random plastic stuff into the audience while all of the kids present would go into a frenzy.

The churches would hold up to 200 people with more kids seated up front on the floor. Some churches also had extra outdoor seating for people to listen and view through the windows. It was quite hot inside and I wasn’t feeling so great with my infected knee and the antibiotics I was now taking. It was a special experience nonetheless.

These marches would last all day with a massive feast being served midday. I was kindly directed towards giant buffet tables of a variety of food that mostly looked delicious. I didn’t have much of an appetite for pig roast but I attempted to sample a variety of most of the foods there. Lot’s of breadfruit and Taro cooked in a variety of ways.

Every day for a week there was a celebration like this at a different church. I attended two of the events for about half a day at each. I would have loved to visit each and every one but I was feeling pretty low energy and in need of some healing time. I joined my fellow yachties from Seattle for a lovely Christmas dinner of Lasagna.

It took longer than expected for my knee to start healing. The batteries seemed to be hungry on the flesh in my knee. I would squeeze dead tissue (puss like stuff) out of the wound and clean it. By the time it was looking good it was time for me to continue sailing west. I had friends and family to meet. I left Kosrae before I was able to cycle around the whole island and climb up the mountains. Next time…

I needed to get my bike back to the boat somehow!

Leaving Lele Harbour under sail was again the source of a bit of stress for me. I cleared out with customs and immigration fairly smoothly and then loaded up on vegetables. I think I was officially supposed to leave within 6 hours but I would wait until the wind was ideal for getting out of the harbour and clearing the island to a safe distance off shore. I waited one day for those conditions to arrive. It was smooth sailing out of the harbour and back into the open Ocean. I was happy to be back at see and wasn’t expecting to be wishing for land and a hospital so soon….Arggghhhh

My first betelnut experience. Fresh from the tree where I paddled to Dolce.

]]>Street DragonsleadersMarkus PukonenSat, 07 Apr 2018 10:02:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/street-dragons555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:5ac71b88562fa746f58270a3Rather than simply provide a handout, we provide a hand-up for those who
choose to better their circumstances and themselves.Have you ever been traveling and seen a child begging or selling stuff on the street? I’m sure you wished you could help but probably didn’t know what you could do. When I arrived in Vietnam it was a far too common sight to see children who belonged in primary school working and sleeping on the streets.

I had kids as young as five years old come up to me and try and sell me guidebooks or candy. I saw a five year old carrying their one year old brother on their back, walking alone on the street in barefeet. I saw kids sleeping on the street next to dumpsters. It was heart breaking.

In a foreign country where you don’t speak the language and have little understanding of the culture and politics it is easy to feel hopeless when it comes to helping people out on the street. That is how I felt when I arrived in Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam. I knew I wasn’t the only person feeling this way and assumed that someone must be doing something for these children.

I didn’t search far before I found the people who are doing the amazing, inspiring, and necessary work to help these kids out.

Blue Dragon's purpose is to provide exceptional care to Vietnamese children and families in crisis while creating long-term change for a better world.

Blue Dragon kids are street kids, children with disabilities, children from rural families living in extreme poverty, and victims of human trafficking and slavery. Yes, it may be hard to believe but child slavery is still very much an issue in many parts of the world.

Blue Dragon rescues kids from danger, reunite them with their families when possible, and provide all the services needed for recovery and growth.They never give up on any child, even the most complex cases.

I’m especially stoked on the way they approach their work. Take a look at their values.

Respect, not pityThe children we work with are treated with at least the same respect that we would treat our own sons and daughters, brothers and sisters.

Development, not charityWe work to help children develop fully as they grow, through providing a broad range of experiences and opportunities. Rather than simply provide a handout, we provide a hand-up for those who choose to better their circumstances and themselves.

Empowerment, not dependencyOur role is to provide opportunities for children to pursue as individuals rather than to force our views or values on the children.

Collaboration, not controlOur staff work alongside the children and their families, so that the beneficiaries are involved in all stages of our work, rather than simply being recipients of charity.

Massive interventions, not quick-fix solutions.We tackle the problem of poverty from every angle rather than focusing on one obvious cause or effect. Our interventions may take years, as we persist until we are successful.

To date Blue Dragon has done some impressive work:Rescued 752 people from traffickingRepresented 62 people in court casesSent 4,815 kids back to school & trainingProvided shelter to 541 girls & boysPlaced 254 teens in jobsServed 481,220 mealsBuilt 91 homes for familiesReunited 480 runaways with their familiesObtained legal papers for 11,617 peoplePlayed 2,374 games of soccer!

From the founder - “All children have the right to be children, to be safe, to attend school, to play, to be treated with respect, to be heard, to be understood and to be loved.”I couldn’t agree more. Thank you for your work.

If you’re inspired and grateful like I am, please donate to Blue Dragon and help more kids!Blue Dragon is a registered charity in Australia, the USA, the UK, and New Zealand.

DonateLearn More]]>Nuclear Islands in Paradise.sailingMarkus PukonenThu, 29 Mar 2018 22:07:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/nuclear-islands-in-paradise555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:5aa8bc3471c10b91673a8365Little did I know that the little scrape on my knee would end up being the
biggest issue of the journey to date.

The Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI).

When Dolce came to a stop after the 21 Day rollercoaster ride I realized my stress about coming into harbour was unnecessary. It was quite simple and easy. I think I was forgetting how slow I would be moving. If anything went wrong it wasn’t going to happen fast (apart from 1; hitting some underwater obstacle which are rarely unmarked in busy harbours 2; a fast moving drunk driving boat colliding with me, more common in busy harbours). Even If I had failed horribly in my judgement of Dolce’s forward momentum and shot past the buoy I would have easily been able to turn around and return to it without issue. It would have been much more dangerous if the wind was blowing very strong.

Either way I was relieved to have successfully completed my first solo open ocean passage. Unfortunately I was unable to go to shore for the next 36 hours as the Immigration charges a fortune for overtime processing on the weekend. Thankfully my neighbours were friendly and came to say hello and gave me some fresh baked muffins! I was happy to talk to people. So happy! I don’t think I got a chance to hug anyone for a few days but I would have loved to hug anyone right there.

I arrived Saturday evening but would have to wait until Monday morning to officially arrive in the RMI. It was okay to have a day to clean the boat, organize my things, and reflect on the passage before experiencing the shock of land and culture. I inflated my tender (the standup paddle board) and got ready to deal with a potential bureaucratic mess.

Monday morning came and I paddled my way to shore. I didn’t want to deal with my bike at that time so I had a bit of a walk to get to the Immigration office. I was looking forward to walking. It was great to be on land and see smiling friendly people.

I walked past the Bikini and Rongelaap Atoll Town Halls. Hmmm. That’s weird why would those atolls which are hundreds of km to the north have their town halls here on Majuro. I soon realized it was because those atolls are still unsafe to live on thanks to the 23 Nuclear devices that that were detonated there between 1946 and 1958 by the USA. The islanders were told they would be able to return to their home after the tests but it has never to this day been safe to do so. The fallout of radioactive debris was well documented across the entire world after these tests. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuclear_testing_at_Bikini_Atoll

As if the Nuclear history wasn’t bad enough, the Marshall Islands are now destined to be underwater in the not too distant future. Thanks to sea level rise due to the melting of the ice caps and global climate change the atolls are already experiencing more frequent flooding events. There is a substantial population of missionaries on the islands and unfortunately some of them teach their congregation that they do not need to be concerned about raising sea levels because the bible teaches that fire will bring the next catastrophe… … …https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=1398&v=autMHvj3exA

The city itself (actually three towns on narrow islands linked by small stretches of land) is a bit of a dump. No offence to the lovely Marshallese people. Nobody walks or rides bikes, even though most people only travel a few kilometers to get where they are going. This is progress.

With a population of about 20,000 people there are traffic jams as there is only one two lane road. It doesn’t need more. Similar to most cities on the planet, it needs less cars, less concrete, and more edible gardens. I know it’s easy for me to come and make judgements but having seen the amount of wasted development money I know it would cost a small fraction of that amount to make an island like this completely self sustainable. It wasn’t long ago that this was the case. Sure the people are interested in a bit of outside technology and trade and I think this is a good thing. The problem comes when the population becomes almost entirely dependent on imports of food, fuel, and international “development” money. A sustainable future is based in localization, not globalization. Perhaps the fact that the islands are soon to be submerged is the governments justification for the short term thinking.

I made my way to the clearly unmarked building where I was told I could find the immigration office on the 4th floor. There was an elevator which I was pointed towards. I walked right past it to the stairs as the security guard looked at me curiously. On the 4th floor I took a right turn down a dark hallway where I found a printed piece of paper taped to a door with Immigration on it.

I was ready to be scolded for not checking in sooner and paying overtime fees but it was true that I had only just arrived on land. I waited patiently for about 20 minutes as they eventually got around to getting me some forms and then stamping my entrance into the RMI. I then made my way to the next clearly unmarked yellowish beige building that was down the street and home to the customs department. After a 15 minute wait they took my forms, did some photocopies, and officially cleared me into the RMI.

My time in Majuro was made quite comfortable thanks to the hospitality of many people and especially a friend who I was introduced to by several unrelated people before I arrived in the Islands. Karl was a researcher and diver who shared Scandinavian routes and Vancouver ties with me. He had a spare room in the main resort in town. It was great to have a comfy (bit mouldy) place to sleep off of the boat.

I hadn’t planned on staying very long in Majuro but a number of things ended up changing those plans. I was still looking for crew to sail with me through Micronesia so I was waiting around a bit to hear from them. I also organized presentations at a middle school, two high schools, and a college in both Majuro town and Laura which is about a 50km bike down to the far end of the atoll. I was warmly welcomed in Laura by some teachers from Fiji who I am fortunate enough to still be in contact with. Hi Selina!

I had planned to go explore and surf at some of the neighbouring and non cement atolls but while I was in the midst of my planned couple of weeks on Majuro I fractured my foot. I was playing basketball in minimalist shoes with my heel bones that hadn’t experienced much compaction or cement in recent times. I came down hard on my heel and it cracked under the pressure. It wasn’t serious enough to go to a doctor but it was serious enough to be gentle with it for a couple weeks.

In the meantime I met many friendly folks around town. The Mieco Beach Yacht Club was very welcoming and had a weekly dinner for all of the yachties and friends. The club was small and did not have a clubhouse. It did however, have awesome people running it and organizing socials and occasional sailing events. I was happy to have Thanksgiving Dinner with a group of about 20 folks from around the world.

Sprouted Coconut is one of my favorite foods on the planet.

My search for an inspiring local organization to support led me to Waan Aelõñ in Majel (Canoes of the Marshall Islands). I soon realized they didn’t need any help from me. They have done amazing work with local youth in reviving the skill of canoe building and sailing. The manager was kind enough to offer me the use of some tools so that I could build some extra bung plugs for the boat (Plugs to stick in the through-hulls (holes) of the boat if any of the pipes or hoses were to fall out). I also discovered and was gifted a beauty boat specific gimballed four burner range and oven that was abandoned and not being used. Dolce’s makeshift range was rusting and falling apart. It was a bit big for Dolce but I couldn’t find anything else in Majuro that would do the trick. I figured Dave could sell it, trade it, or cut it apart to his liking in Hong Kong. It wasn’t easy getting it in Dolce and finding the necessary parts but after a few days of juggling it settled into place. It wasn’t worth the effort in the end. For all the work, added weight, and loss of kitchen space, I think I baked one pizza and some cookies, but that’s about it. Two burners is enough for the majority of cooking I ever do, especially at sea.

After six weeks in and around Majuro my foot had healed and I was unsuccessful in finding any crew to sail with me. Several people expressed interest but nobody could pull the trigger in the end. It was December and I made plans to meet a friend in Pelau at the end of January and another friend and my sister in the Philippines a month after that. This meant that I would not have time to visit any more of the Marshall Islands. It was tough to leave without exploring more and scoring some surf but I did have to return the boat to Dave in April in Hong Kong. I was also happy to have meet ups with friends and family in the near future.

Dolce was ready to go and loaded up with some lovely parting gifts from the friends I had met in Majuro. Some rough weather prevented me from setting sail for a couple days. I wasn’t in a rush and was happy to have more time to say goodbye to my friends and meet new ones. When the weather settled I untied from the buoy, raised the Main and unrolled the Genoa to coast out of the mooring field. I made it about a mile through the maze of giant tuna boats and tacked to head out into the open lagoon. As I did this the boom dropped from the mast and smacked to a rest on the top of the life raft container. I quickly dropped the main and realized that the gooseneck (attachment between the boom and mast) was broken.

I was stressed as I would now have to maneuver my way back through the ships to the mooring field with only my Genoa. I didn’t know how Dolce would handle with just the foresail. She was fine in the end. I managed to sail her back somewhat smoothly to the mooring ball I had just left. I needed to steer Dolce to as close as possible to the ball and then run forward to catch the mooring line with my homemade boat hook. I did this successfully but I scraped my knee on the deck of the boat in the process. I was relieved to be back on the ball. If this breaking of the gooseneck connection had happened out on a long passage it would have been a much bigger issue.

Thankfully a neighbour saw I was in a bit of trouble and came over soon after to offer assistance. He was great and was able to find me some more help from another friend from the yacht club who had many tools and the knowledge I needed to make a solid and quick fix. In the process we discovered that the solid brass gooseneck was designed for a roller furling reefing system that was not in use on Dolce. We ended up cutting that function off in order to fix the break that had occurred. It was a much more solid mcgyvering that gave me confidence in the attachment point for the rest of the journey.

A few days later I was able to set sail without issue. Little did I know that the little scrape on my knee would end up being the biggest issue of the journey to date.Subscribe to the blog RSS below to find out why.

Here is another interesting video about the Marshall Islands. Click here.

]]>21 Day Solo Sail from Hawaii to the Marshall IslandssailingMarkus PukonenSun, 18 Mar 2018 10:58:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/21-days-alone-at-sea555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:5954348b099c0172ea12282esolar panel covered in shit! Spotting a large unidentified marine mammal, a
few flying fish, and a flying squid brightened up the crappy start to the
day.

I hadn’t felt that nervous in a long time and I’m not entirely sure why. From your point of view it is perhaps obvious, but from mine it isn’t. Yes, I was about to start my first solo ocean sail on a 50 yr old, small 30 ft boat, 2000 miles across the open Pacific to a tiny nation consisting of low lying coral atolls. My previous solo open water sailing experience was on a sit on top trimaran a year before on Lake Superior. I grew up sailing a dinghy a couple of weeks a year on a tiny cottage country lake and had frequent weekend cruises with my Dad around Toronto on Lake Ontario. That’s enough experience right?

Okay, maybe this helps. I spent 73 days crossing the Atlantic Ocean on a much smaller and more uncomfortable Ocean Rowboat. I knew what it was like to be on the Ocean. I also knew the boat well having sailed from San Francisco to Hawaii a few months earlier with it’s owner and friend Dave. Dave had taught me everything I needed to know about the boat on that journey and it didn’t take me long to feel comfortable at the helm. For the majority of that 25 day crossing there was only one of us on watch handling the boat.

The fact that it was Hurricane and Typhoon season was not a huge concern given the route that I was taking to get to Majuro. Hurricanes form and approach from much farther east in the Pacific and you get warning well in advance. Typhoons were a bit more of a concern although they would not be an issue until I sailed much closer to the islands, and even then it was rare for them to occur there. I had someone watching the weather for me and was ready to alter course at a moments notice. It was always on my mind but perhaps unwarranted.

Dave had decided he needed a break from sailing and was well aware of my situation so he made the amazingly kind gesture of lending me Dolce. I took command of her on September 14th in exchange for 16 hours of work a week and $300 per 1000 nautical miles sailed. We were both satisfied.

I spent the next three weeks fixing, repairing, and making Dolce a little bit more comfortable and seaworthy. There is always work to be done on a sailboat to make it more seaworthy. This is true of a brand new boat and especially the case with a 50 yr old vessel that was never 100% ready for ocean cruising. I did what I could and knocked off many small jobs from the list while accepting that some major upgrades would have to wait. I was more than comfortable with her condition as she was luxurious and roomy compared to the ocean rowboat.

One of the main factors in my push to get her ready and sail out of Hawaii as soon as possible was the fact that my six month permitted stay in the US was up at the end of September. I had left the mainland and spent 24 days in international waters but according to immigration I had simply gone from state to state and never left the country. I was concerned and did not want to overstay my visa.

I managed to get everything ready to go but felt like I was still rushing and a bit stressed about it all. I decided I would stay another day and relax before setting sail. I was happy to have the freedom to do this and it felt great to have a day to breath and take it all in. I met some great people in Hawaii and I was happy to have more time to say goodbye to them. Now I was ready.

I had my doubts though. As I mentioned before I’m still not sure where it all came from. I think it was partially based in the complexity of the boat. There are many systems and parts on a boat that can go wrong or fall apart. I’m creative and a good problem solver but I’m far from a handyman, and a bit clueless when it comes to electricity. Things would become a lot more difficult if I were to lose power. I rely on electricity for navigation, the main bilge pump, music, and communication. I have backups in case of failure but it would be a fair amount more work and energy. I think part of the reason I like traveling without a motor is the simplicity of it all. Sailing a boat across the Ocean is simple most of the time, but can become very complicated in a hurry when things go wrong. I think that is where my fear was based. I’m looking forward to the simplicity of walking.

The moment of truth came on October 7th. Apparently it was a good day as one of my sister’s sold an apartment and it was my other sister’s birthday. Thankfully I had many people who offered to help me get out of the harbour. One buddy was actually really keen to tow me the whole way out, but I wasn’t comfortable with that so I had to turn him down. However, I did have a friend hop in the water and help to swing the boat around 180 so that she was facing the right way to sail out. Another friend (both were singlehanded sailors and neighbours on the dock) joined me on Dolce to help me handle the sails and be ready to push off of other boats or drop the anchor if the wind died completely. The wind did go calm a couple of times but only for a short period and we managed to cruise out with a speed of about 1 knot. We had one tack to make at the end of the dock and then it was a straight shot past a surf break that sometimes barrels. We said goodbye and my buddy hopped off onto his boogie board just past the break. I was alone.

How did it feel? It still sends a rush of mysterious energy through my body. It was powerful. It was surreal. It was life, and I was living it. I say that because it was one of those moments that I needed to remind myself that I wasn’t dreaming. I was actually doing this. I was all by myself on a boat, watching Hawaii get smaller and smaller as I sailed off into the horizon. I felt strong and confident yet vulnerable, anxious and nervous, yet balanced and at peace. Paradoxical, like the present human situation on this planet.

The boat was sailing fine but there was immediately some adjustments to be made. I needed to rig a line off the boom to prevent accidental jibing as my course was taking me straight down wind on a run. I also put out a whisker pole to keep the Genoa sail full of wind, clear of the mainsail. There was a number of other loose ends and such to tidy up that seemed to take all day. By sunset O’ahu was a sliver in the past, the Marshall Islands were in the unsighted distant future, and I was intensely aware of the present moment.

I made a tasty salad for dinner and ate as the last light of the day left me in the darkness. I put on my headlamp to see the remains of my salad and in the corner of my vision I spotted a weird something. At first I thought it was some food that had dropped but on a closer look I realized a squid had flown into the cockpit and in it’s fear had sprayed it’s ink on the floor. I took out my camera to film it and realized that it was still breathing. I quickly picked up the slimy creature and tossed it into the Ocean. I did contemplate eating it but it was so small and I had just filled my stomach with a rich salad. I’ve heard squids are quite intelligent and I’m curious how it would have perceived the adventure.

Dolce does not have an autopilot but she is equipped with a Cap Horn self-steering wind vane. This is perhaps the single most important piece of gear onboard, apart from the rudder. You adjust the angle of a small framed sail that connects to a rudder which then pulls on a gear that connects to the main tiller. It does a very impressive job of holding the boat on course to a given wind direction. If the wind changes direction than the boat will also change direction. Thankfully it is rare for the wind to drastically change direction when sailing in the trades as I was. There were times when I didn’t need to adjust the control lines on the wind vane for days! It was controlling the helm for 99% of the time and doing a much better job than I ever could. This is extremely valuable as it enables me to do everything else that is necessary (like dancing) without stopping or slowing forward progress.

Sleep. I hoped to do it for at least a third of the time I was at sea. If there was ever a risk of ships being in my vicinity I would turn on the AIS transponder. The Automatic Information System makes Dolce show up on other ship’s radar and alters their course to prevent running me over. All ships have them these days and my running lights would hopefully be enough to prevent a collision with the rare small fishing boat that is out at night. This would only be a concern closer to land.

The bunks on Dolce are about an inch or two too small for me. That and the fact that the boat is rolling violently at times makes the floor the much more comfortable option. I pull the foam cushion off of the bunk and wedge it onto the floor. A sheet on top of it and one on top of me if it gets chilly with the breeze. The boat is not quietly moving through the water. There are wires clanging loose inside the mast, lines hitting on the outside of the mast and on deck, waves smashing off the hull, and all sorts of other things clinking and rattling inside the cabin. Earplugs were almost essential in order to get a sound sleep.

On average I’d wake up about 3 times over the course of an 8 to 9 hour sleep. More during the first half of the journey due to my nerves. Sometimes it would be the thumping loud sound of a wave hitting the hull, other times it would be a change in movement or heeling of the boat, which would usually signify that the wind vane control line had come loose and/or there had been an accidental jibe. It was scary waking up to this! I was instantly wide awake and scampered on deck to fix the problem.

I woke up after a frequently interrupted sleep the next morning and there was no land in sight. Good bye Hawaii. I love the Aloha spirit, even though it’s commercialized and one of the least sustainable places on the planet. The vast majority of the economy is either flown or shipped thousands of miles in and out. Whether it’s tourists or food. Could Hawaii grow all of the food it needs? Absolutely. If you don’t think so I’m sorry to break it to you but you lack an imagination and knowledge of what is possible in agriculture. Will the tourist industry need to transition into something different soon? If we are to create a sustainable world it sure looks that way. I’m amazed that people will say it’s unrealistic or impossible. Let’s not give up just yet.

The first few days of sailing were relatively straightforward downwind sailing in ENE trade winds. It was not extremely comfortable due to the constant rolling back and forth of Dolce. I did what I could to limit the roll as it can potentially be dangerous but the waves prevented me from having much success. There were stretches of time when the rolling was almost non existent and I realized it was simply because there was very little or no cross swell. Dolce has a narrow 9ft. beam and a nice full keel that makes her safer but doesn't help much with making her more stable. It’s a crazy roller coaster ride.

I woke up in the middle of the third night to adjust the sails and a bird almost landed on my head. It then decided the solar panel was a better option and landed on the panel with such expertise as to make a fighter pilot landing on an aircraft carrier look like a rookie. My new friend was unfazed by me, my headlamp, and my camera all focused on it. I felt safer going back to sleep knowing it was on the night watch. It stayed all night long and left me in the morning with a solar panel covered in shit! Spotting a large unidentified marine mammal, a few flying fish, and a flying squid brightened up the crappy start to the day.

I had read that once you adapt to the sea you are good to go as long as you don’t spend more than six months on solid land. I have never had serious issues with sea sickness and the journey from San Francisco to Hawaii was no exception. I had felt tired and a bit rough at times but nothing i couldn’t smile through. I was expecting to have no issues whatsoever this time around having only spent a couple of months on land after 25 days at sea.

Before I left I had canned some thai red curry, beans, and a tikka masala. I had used a pressure cooker for some of the food but the canning process didn’t go as well as I had hoped. It was in a busy kitchen with lot’s of distractions and It ended up taking much longer than expected with some shortcuts made. In short, I was a bit concerned about botchulism. On day three I sampled a jar of the Thai curry. It smelled a bit weird and tasted okay but left me wondering if I had just poisoned myself. Dave had stocked the boat full of interesting supplies including pounds of good organic beef lard. There was an open container of it that I didn’t want to go to waste so I used it as the cooking oil for all of my canning. Big mistake.

That was the beginning of me feeling a bit rough and questioning my health. I know now that it is very unlikely that I had Botchulism but without the handy self diagnosis from the internet I was a bit concerned while out on the Ocean. I think my body was just reacting to my bad cooking and adapting once again to the rocking and rolling of the boat. I began to feel a bit slow and tired and would often find myself staring at something with barely a thought in my mind. I thought about asking about it through a text message but I wasn’t feeling desperate enough to make my family on land completely stressed out about my well-being. I would wait to see if my situation degraded and take action if needed.

I’m sensitive. For much of my teens and early twenties I believed I was not very sensitive and somewhat distant from my emotions. I was always physically active growing up and that enabled me to feel somewhat healthy. It wasn’t until I left the city and the mountains detoxified me that I realized what true health could feel like. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, the healthier you become the more sensitive you are to unhealthy environments and foods. It is quite possible that the diet change for me made me feel rough.

Then the weather showed up. At night. When I was sleeping. I woke up to a loud smack which I’m still not sure the origin of. I like to think I’ve picked up a good sense of how the boat moves in regards to wind and wave direction. I’d often spend days in similar conditions so it’s not surprising that when they change it would be startling to my body. Transitioning from one roller coaster ride to a completely different one will wake you from sleep in a hurry. I jumped out of bed and scampered on to deck to feel the strong wind gusting to 35 knots. Before I could drop some sail the rain came in full force. Not from above but from the side. The strongest sideways rain I had ever felt.

Dropping sail in a gale is one of the trickier and more challenging aspects of cruising. Ideally you can see or feel it coming and can be proactive in dropping the sail before the boat gets overwhelmed. If you get caught off guard like I did when I was sleeping it becomes much more exciting and dangerous. There is risk of tearing a sail or worse. I quickly furled in the genoa all the way to relieve the forces on the boat. It was a bit late as the foot line in the Genoa had ripped out of the sail. This was a consistent issue with this sail. It was clearly not sewn strong enough. I could barely open my eyes in the sideways rain but the reefing lines on Dolce come back to the cockpit and are easily handled. The system has it’s issues but it works well enough without immediately needing to go to the mast. I successfully pulled in two reefs and the roller coaster ride became much gentler. I’m not sure how long I was out on deck but I began to shiver with cold. I was surprised that I would need to put on clothes to stay warm for the first time since I was up 13,000 feet on Mauna Loa on the Big Island of Hawaii.

The strong winds and rough 3-4m seas lasted for the next few days. The control lines for the wind vane ripped the cam cleats out of the tiller. I’ll blame Dave for some poor mcgyvering on that one. :) It was a rocky and uncomfortable ride but I was making great progress. I averaged about 125 NM a day over the next four days, including my pb distance made good at sea of 138 NM. When I had finally become comfortable with the rough ride the storm passed and the wind and seas became less wild. It put the previous days in perspective and I remembered how peaceful trade wind sailing can feel.

I got into a comfortable rhythm and my fear of botulism passed. I was feeling healthy and stoked to be out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I cried. I smiled. I cried some more. It’s impossible to forget where you are, who you are, and how you have got there when you are alone in the Ocean. You are forced to confront yourself. The tears running down my face were filled with gratitude for all of my loved ones and people like you who have been supporting me on this journey. I never felt lonely out there. I felt loved. I felt supported. I felt the prayers of people. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I cried.

On the 10th day at sea I was briefly becalmed. I dropped all of the sails and nervously hopped into the deep dark blue ocean. I did a brief swim but the boat seemed to still be moving a bit from a gust of wind or some current or some unseen force. I grabbed a hold of it and was dragged through the water until I lifted myself up onto deck. Yes. It was scary.

A large part of my attraction to crossing an ocean solo was the space and time I would have to learn more about myself. Being alone does not scare me. I’m interested in knowing myself better, and although that is very possible in the company of others, and perhaps necessary to understand some aspects of my being, I feel it is easier and becomes essential to your survival when you are alone. The experience of being alone out there was nothing what I had imagined or expected. I’m still processing it over a year later…You’ll have to wait for the book:)

The final half of the passage was much slower than the first half. I covered 2/3rds (1300NM) of the distance in the first ten days. It took me the remaining 11 days to cover the final 1/3rd. The wind was not cooperating. It began changing directions and losing strength frequently. I ended up beating into (sailing towards) the wind for the final few days. Dolce does not sail very well into the wind and nor does she feel very comfortable while doing so. She gets smacked by the waves quite violently. It was a rough finish to the trip.

Land Ho!!!!! On October 28th I spotted some distant palm trees on Arno Atoll. It was not my destination as I needed to make my way to Majuro Atoll in order to clear customs and immigration for the Republic of the Marshall Islands. I ended up spotting Majuro Atoll as the sun was setting. I would have to heeve to for the night in order to delay my arrival until sunrise. There is no need to risk a night time passage through a narrow reef entrance into an unknown harbour. I spent a somewhat sleepless night waking up every hour to make sure I was keeping plenty of sea room between me and the reefs. The lights of Majuro were very visible, yet still a world way.

As the sun rose I made my approach to the 400m pass in the reef. It was well travelled and had buoys to guide me but it still heightened my nerves. As I approached a motor boat with an official looking seal of some sort came around to check me out. They didn’t come too close but I’m pretty sure they had the binoculars out to investigate. I had attempted to hail the Port Authority and Customs to no avail.

The wind was blowing out of the entrance channel to the Atoll so I needed to tack 7 times to get in. At one point I had company from a big junky looking Chinese Tuna fishing boat that was leaving the lagoon. I timed my tacks to give them as much space as I could. It was bizarre to see other people on deck. I think I was much more excited to see them then they were to see me.

The Atoll lagoon was protected from the waves so the water became peaceful and flat very fast. After being on a roller coaster for so long I was astonished to feel how peaceful and unmoving the water was. I wanted to hug every person I saw but the boats I passed were always too far, among other issues. The wind was light so it took me all day to sail the 9 miles to the other end of the Atoll where the main harbour is. I was a bit surprised to see massive Tuna Canning Ships and all of their smaller fishing boats scattered everywhere. It was a huge contrast for me to be sailing quietly through the maze of the massive steel machines. I was on guard and very cautious of their ability to block the wind, and therefore my power to move. I maneuvered past them successfully and eyed the yacht mooring field that was my target.

This moment would by far be the most stressful since sailing out of the harbour in Honolulu. I had never done what I was about to attempt. Drop my sails and coast with just the right amount of forward momentum to arrive at a mooring ball. I eyed a yellow ball in the middle of the field with a good amount of space between my neighbours. How far would Dolce drift once I dropped her sails? Would I be able to stop her by grabbing hold of the buoy if I overshot it with too much momentum? Could I do a U turn to arrive back at the buoy with out issue? Would there be enough wind on the field to lift my sails and regain some power to avoid hitting the other boats? I hoped to only find the answer to one of those questions.

I rolled in my Genoa (foresail) first as it is easy to do. I then dropped my main with a couple hundred meters to go and began my coast. As soon as I did this a couple from another boat came out in their dinghy and offered assistance. They asked for my line and I threw it to them. I made sure they did not tow me. I had timed my entrance perfectly and they were able to easily thread my line through the buoy for me and pass it back to me. I still had a bit of forward momentum but nothing I couldn’t stop with my own two hands. Dolce swung around and came to a stop for the first time in 21 days and 21,000 NM. Holy shit.

]]>OahusailingMarkus PukonenSun, 11 Mar 2018 12:30:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/oahu555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:5952500f6b8f5b75fd23d56bSoon after I was shocked out of my slump when I got the surprising news

Waking up in Honolulu was a bit strange. We were in a big marina directly beside Waikiki beach and all of the towering hotels. Not my idea of a prime vacation destination. The day we arrived my couchsurfing host Oliver came down to the boat and helped me move my stuff up to his place. I said goodbye to Dave, not expecting(or wanting) to see him again. How soon those feelings were to change…

My host Oliver was awesome. He had been living in Hawaii for about a year while training to become a helicopter pilot. He passed his test to become a pilot and immediately began working as an instructor for the same company. Interesting system, but it makes sense if you consider how fresh the essential information is in the new pilots head, in addition to the fact that with time pilots can become complacent, or function by instinct, which is more challenging to teach.

Oliver and I immediately went for a hike up the mountainside that climbs out of Honolulu. My favourite thing to do in any big city is to go up high for a good vantage point. It helps me to get my bearings and get a good idea of the lay of the land. Honolulu was a bit of a bizarre tourist trap.

Oliver made me feel at home at his place and said I was welcome to stay for as long as I needed. I was keen to explore the island and search the marinas for boats and captains in need of crew. I made up flyers and hopped on my bike to go for a tour around the island. Leaving Honolulu it became clear why people have fallen in love with this place. Oahu’s true beauty shows itself once you leave the craziness of the city. Empty beaches and precipitous cliffs with a lush green mountain range running the length of the island. It’s not hard to escape the crowds.

I met some other amazing hosts on the other side of the island through a website that is dedicated to the community of cycling tourists. Cam and Rita quickly became good friends and I would end up doing a bit of a work trade in order to stay with them longer. I also ended up helping out a neighbour of theirs with some landscaping around town. Cam introduced to me some schools where I did a couple presentations. Cam and Rita quickly felt like family to me and I felt at home in their presence.

I continued around the island in search of a boat to take me west. I posted flyers and asked around while scouring the online crew-seeking websites. I was a bit surprised to not find a single lead. I started to seriously consider buying a boat. I didn’t have the money but I was hoping I might find some mates to join me and split the costs. Quite a few people were interested but I didn’t find any boats that were seaworthy and within our budget.

I arrived back in Honolulu when The Great Pacific Race rowboats were slowly trickling in. It’s a small community so I knew several of the organizers and participants. I would have been on one of those rowboats myself if I had said yes to the offer and decided not to sail with Dave. It was fun to meet some of the rowers and share stories of our mutually experienced torture and joy. I seriously contemplated purchasing one of the rowboats to continue on with. There was a small possibility that one of them might become available.

Oliver and I celebrated my 34th birthday and the one year anniversary on the route. Unfortunately while we were eating dinner his nice bike was stolen from outside the restaurant. Happy Birthday! Things weren’t looking very promising after a month of searching for a passage to Asia. I was feeling a bit depressed. Perfect timing for a friend to visit from Vancouver. We had a fun time exploring together and then I had a chance visit from my brother, who happened to be in Hawaii for a job. The rush I felt from their visits only left me feeling more bummed when they were gone.

Soon after I was shocked out of my slump when I got the surprising news from Dave. He was battling back up wind to Hawaii and interested in lending Dolce to me. The stars were once again aligning for Routes of Change!

Some new friends I had made helped me prepare by hooking me up with some surfboards. There were some good waves to be ridden immediately in front of where Dolce was docked. Before I took over as the official captain of Dolce I took in many events at the International Union for the Conservation of Nature Congress that Hawaii was hosting. I had attended the previous congress four years earlier on Jeju Island in Korea, while working for the Canadian Wildlife Federation. I found the Jeju experience a bit troubling due to the amount of green-washing going on.

The Hawaiian congress was much more promising and it was great to connect with some friends there. I was stoked to be recruited by the folks from NatureRX to work/dress up as a Kangaroo on a new project of theirs. Me and a bunch of National Park mascots had an epic dance party. I feel sorry for the person who wore that suit after me. I was swimming inside of it.

I owe huge thanks to all the folks on Oahu who made me feel at home and took care of me for the duration of my Marooning. Especially Oliver. We had quickly become friends for life and were planning on an adventure together in the near future. I was hoping he would join me for a paragliding journey through the Himilayas. It was with disbelief and pain when I was recently informed that Oliver and a student of his are presumed dead after their helicopter crashed into the Ocean off the north coast of Molokai. Cheers Oliver. You are forever flying in the hearts of all those who had the pleasure of knowing you. Big Respect.

RECENT UPDATE:

I just found out that my cycling friend and host Cam passed away. He had a heart attack while doing what he loved. He was riding his bike up a steep hill with a bunch of cyclists half his age struggling up behind him. It's a sobering thought that both of my hosts on Oahu have passed on, while doing what they were passionate about. Sending big love to Rita and all of Cam's loved ones.

]]>Big IslandsailingMarkus PukonenThu, 30 Jun 2016 01:01:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/big-island555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:595249439de4bb54f00fa94dI was officially marooned on the most remote island chain on the planet. The moment I stepped foot on the Big Island I felt something special, something powerful. I instantly felt rejuvenated, energized, and more alive. The evening we pulled into Hilo Harbour a friend I knew from Tofino happened to be coming into town for dinner. We met at a place near to where we had anchored and feasted as he and his girlfriend were amused by my newfound land energy.

A couple days after arriving the unfortunate dream that I had experienced came true. Dave informed that he wanted to continue on solo from that point. He comforted me by saying that I was a great crewmember and that it wasn’t me, it was him. Haha. Classic breakup moves. His main reason was that he didn’t want to feel stuck to a plan to get me to Asia. He was keen to go exploring in the Pacific and get lost on the islands for awhile. All of which I would have been happy to do but I knew there was no point in bringing it up because I could tell that he simply wanted space. He was kind enough to offer to get me to Oahu from the Big Island where I would have a better chance of finding another boat to crew on. I was officially marooned on the most remote island chain on the planet.

There’s more to that story but it will have to wait for the book. I was hurt, but I understood where Dave was coming from. It’s a small boat, I’m not an excellent cook, or a beautiful young woman. I think I took it pretty well considering my predicament. Dave timed it well also. I was just about to leave the boat and bike across the island to stay with a friend. I had purchased a beater bike soon after arriving but it proved to be unworthy of any significant riding. Silly me. I then purchased a marginally better and new bike. I cruised about 50 km across the island to my friend Amanda’s house. It was great to see a familiar face!

I immediately started searching online crew seeking sites and spreading the word that I was in search of a ride to anywhere south or west. From the start it wasn’t looking very promising. I did get in touch with one guy who was offering up accommodation in return for some help with his boat for half a year until he set sail for Tahiti. I would have to overstay my visa but for other reasons it didn’t seem ideal. He was an interesting character who had some firm beliefs as to when it is safe to leave the Hawaiian Islands. I would later discover that there are many people in the yachting community who have researched a lot about specific routes or yachts but whose knowledge about broader weather patterns or what is actually safe is very limited. It goes the same with getting directions anywhere, it’s always worth getting a second or third opinion. I’d never have left my front door if I listened to all the sound advice from people who think they know what is the right way to do something.

There is certainly worse places to be stuck in the world than Hawaii. I had an immediate desire to go up one of the volcanoes. I got on my crappy cruiser and started from sea level with a goal to reach the top of the largest one in the world (by mass). I biked 40km uphill to Volcanoes National Park and slept on the edge of a crater where you could see the lava lighting up the night sky. The next morning I continued biking 20 km uphill through rapidly changing ecosystems until the road ended. I locked up my bike in the bush beside a tree and continued on foot. As I climbed higher the vegetation became thinner and thinner until there was nothing but a Mars-like landscape of bizarrely shaped and colored lava rock. That night I took shelter 12 km up the trail at the Pu’u’Ula’ula cabin at an elevation of 10,035 feet. I had all of the thin air up there to myself.

The next morning I hiked up the remaining 19.5 km to the summit of Mauna Loa at 13,677ft (4169m). I was travelling very light with minimalist running shoes on so I needed to be careful on all of the sharp volcanic rock. The colours up there were like none I had ever seen in the natural world, shiny silvers, glittering golds, and many shimmering greens and purples. It took me a few hours to get to the summit which is right on the edge of a massive crater. It was an epic sight.

I didn’t see anyone else on the trail until I started back down the mountain and came across what looked like a 70 yr old struggling up the mountain by himself. We briefly chatted and he informed me that he had driven up much closer to the summit where there is an observatory. He had been hiking for 5 km in the thin air and I questioned (in my mind) whether he would survive. I hope he did…

I returned the same way I came as I had left some things at the hut and my bike was still at the trail head. The entire 40km hike was completely exposed to the sun and it reflected off the shiny lava rock to nicely roast me from all sides. I was feeling a bit of heat exhaustion by the time I made it back to the cabin. Thankfully some friendly german ladies shared some food with me.

The next day I had a wonderful ride all the way back down to the sea. I ended up trading my crappy cruiser for a more suitable mountain bike which would serve me well for many adventures in the Pacific. I rode over to see my friend Waylon who had been volunteering at Kalani, Hawaii’s largest retreat center. He treated me as his guest and I was able to enjoy some delicious meals and great yoga classes.

I was then invited by a warm hearted lady to stay nearby at her vacant and beautiful glamping setup. A large canvas tent with a queen bed in it surrounded by palms and fruit trees. It was great to have some space to myself. I’d wake up and cycle 25 minutes along Mango covered roads to a nearby surf break almost every day for the next week. The search for a boat continued with no luck but the search for a local non-profit to support was met with success when I was introduced to the folks at Go Kuleana. They are a very small organization that runs programs for youth, teaching them the concepts of sustainability and personal responsibility. I visited their permaculture farm for a day and helped them dig some dirt. Good folks doing good things.

Just down the road from where I was glamping was a famous place called Uncles. They host a great farmer’s market and many events as well as being at the heart of the Hawaiian sovereignty movement. Many people are unaware of the very recent history that saw the Queen of Hawaii overthrown in a coup by a small group of American sugar plantation owners. It’s a fascinating and unfortunate history that I recommend you read up on. On another note, this area of the Big Island still has relatively cheap land due to the fact that there is a very high risk of a lava flow taking out your house.

I had been planning on touring around the entire island by bicycle but Dave decided he was ready to leave as soon as I returned to Hilo. I biked back across the island and we lifted anchor the next morning. As we went to raise the sail the main winch jammed and Dave immediately decided to return to anchor. He searched for a new winch online and discovered it would take a week for it to arrive. I was happy because it would give me time to bike the island and also see one of my favorite musicians who happened to be touring Hawaii and playing a concert at a small venue at the north end of the island.

It was a stunning ride along cliffs and past waterfalls. I passed many tree plantations that were likely once sugar plantations, and before that taro, banana, breadfruit, and mango would have dominated the landscape. I met some new friends at the Xavier Rudd concert and it was a great time. The next morning at breakfast I had a brief chat with him as he was staying at the same hostel as me. He was stoked on my journey and happy to let me use some of his music for videos.

Not far from the location of the concert was the beautiful Wapi’o valley. A nice hike started from here and went along the coast. I mentioned to my new friends that I was planning on doing it and one of them also happened to have it in their plans for the next day. I had a 16km bike the next morning to meet Kate at the top of the valley. There was a steep hill dropping into the valley so I offered to carry her backpack down the road on my bike. It was so steep that I had to do my best to lean back ward or I would have flipped right over my front wheel.

At the bottom we stopped to eat some Papaya and a wild horse came over to join us. It was pleasing at first to have the company of a horse but it started going after our food and wouldn’t be deterred. It was nearly biting it out of my hand when I yelled at it and Kate stepped in front of it to block it and push its head away. The horse didn’t like this and quickly bit her on the chest! She was in shock and pain and started to cry as I got angry at the horse and scared him away with a big stick. Thankfully the horse hadn’t broken her skin but it did immediately start to bruise. Not the best way to start a camping trip, but start it we did!

We waded across a waist deep river of slippery rocks and walked along an empty sandy beach to get to where the trail began to climb steeply out of the other side of the valley. As we climbed up we had a clear view of a dramatic 100m+ waterfall dropping into the lush jungle below. It was hot on the exposed parts of the switchback trail so any time trees provided canopy we welcomed a shady rest.

As we reached the top we appeared to enter an entirely different ecosystem with species of plants and trees that were all new to me. The forest was drier and less dense but it didn’t provide views to the nearby ocean below. The trail went up and down ravines and past waterfalls that would soon find their way into the Pacific. Agggghhhooo I looked back to see Kate awkwardly falling in slow motion and twisting her ankle. It seemed bad. She wasn’t going to be able to walk this one off. I scouted up the trail a little bit and found a decent clearing to camp at. I returned to piggyback her the few hundred meters to where she could rest for as long she needed. I wish I had the opportunity to help people out like this every day. It sure makes me feel useful.

After a good restful night Kate was keen to attempt to hike out of there. I taped her ankle up and insisted to carry all of the weight while she limped her way down the trail. She managed to hike all the way out without my assistance. When we returned to where there was cell service Dave had left me a message saying the winch had arrived sooner than expected and he was ready to go.

I was bummed I didn’t get to explore more of the island but I guess it’s good to have an excuse to return. I biked back to Hilo and we set sail the next morning. It was nice to be back sailing and the views to the North Shore of Molokai were straight out of Jurassic Park, literally. It took us about 30 hours to sail over to Honolulu. We arrived at midnight, the lights of the tourist wonderland seemed very out of place in the middle of the Pacific. I got off Dolce and paddled the final few hundred meters into the harbour while guiding Dave into the narrow pass with breaking waves on either side of it. We made it to the dock without a scratch. Phewfff. We were about to see a very different side of Hawaii.

]]>Sailing the Pacific - 1st Passage: San Francisco to HawaiisailingMarkus PukonenMon, 30 May 2016 20:18:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/pacific-ocean-crossing-part-1-san-francisco-to-hawaii555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:57f42ad3e6f2e12c66dff549I would then crawl along the deck as the boat was tossed like a rubber
ducky in the 5m seas.Ever since I dreamed up the Routes of Change project 8 years ago I had been thinking of crossing the Pacific Ocean. I was initially planning on doing it in a rowboat. Those plans ended up taking me on several expeditions with OAR Northwest. You can read all about them here. Having learnt what it takes to fund and organize an Ocean row I started this expedition being much more open to sailing across the Pacific. In other words it takes too much money and time.

Plan A was to crew on a sailboat that was in need of help for the crossing. This would be the easiest, cheapest, and what I thought would be the most likely option. There are many crew seeking sites online and it’s common for people to be looking for help for long Pacific Ocean passages.

Plan B was to join an Ocean rowing team that was in need of another rower. This was a bit less likely but I did have proven experience. The previous year I had also been called out of the blue to join someone on a row from San Francisco to Hawaii. The timing wasn’t right and it didn’t end up happening.

Plan C was to help build a viking ship and sail up to Alaska, then kayak or something of that sort across the Bering Sea. The least likely option. A friend had mentioned that there was a team dreaming this up and they were in need of help and crew. It seemed to be in the very early stages and unlikely to happen anytime soon.

A week into the journey while paddling a canoe in southern Ontario I was introduced to a friend of a friend who had been planning to cross the Pacific in his 1968 Alberg 30 sailboat, Dolce. I spoke with the captain, Dave, over Skype and he was up for sailing with me and not using the motor. We planned for me to meet him in San Francisco in about 8 months. Plenty of time for me to make it across Canada and down the west coast. Plan A Check!

Two weeks later a friend in the Ocean Rowing community invited me to join her in the Great Pacific Race. It would be just the two of us in a 29 ft rowboat from California to Hawaii. I was tempted but for several reasons I decided to pass. I had already committed to meeting Dave and he was up for sailing all the way to Asia. The friend would be stopping in Hawaii, leaving me to figure out a way to get off the most remote island chain on the planet. I also barely knew this friend and had no idea how we would get along on a very uncomfortable, long, and challenging ocean row. Sailing with Dave would be the more comfy option for sure.

Dave had been working for Facebook when he decided he wanted to sail the Pacific. Without previous experience he purchased a boat and taught himself how to sail by reading books and watching youtube videos. Dolce’s home port was on Lopez Island so her first real test with Dave at the helm would be cruising her down the coast from Puget Sound to San Francisco. On this passage Dave became extremely sleep deprived and came to appreciate the option for having crew on board to take shifts with.

I showed up in San Francisco more excited than normal about adventures to come. I had enjoyed a beautiful, but much too fast, ride down the coast (see this blog). A friend had introduced me to friend who lived in a funky communal living space. They were very welcoming and offered me a space to stay while in the city. The next day I met Dave very briefly in the street and we had an awkward hug (mostly because I was filled with gratitude for him and partly because he gives shorter hugs than me. haha). I didn’t get to see the boat that day as he had anchored it off of an island that was accessed by a bridge that cyclists and pedestrians were not allowed on. I would have to be patient.

San Francisco is filled with interesting people and I was in need of some organizing before heading out to sea so being patient was not a problem. My timing aligned perfectly with an event that is a dream for me. The Decentralized Dance Party. It was way too much fun to dance through the streets with a roaming crowd of funky people in costumes with music blasting from hundreds of boom boxes that had been distributed throughout the crowd. Simply dancing through the streets would have been fun enough but we also danced our way up spiralling walkways, across bridges, and around beautiful cityscapes. It’s a dream for me to one day have Routes of Change arrive in every new town to a Decentralized Dance party through the streets. It was by far the most uplifting and fun experience of the journey so far.

When I finally got to meet Dolce it felt a bit surreal. Dave had docked her at a marina that was right beside the San Francisco Giants stadium and there was a baseball game happening. I could hear the crowd roaring and expected a home run ball to fall on the boat at any time. I stepped on board very delicately but in my mind I was wanting to hug the 5 ton boat. Was this really happening? Was I about to sail across the Pacific Ocean? Was it all a dream? I’m still not sure. Someone please slap me!

After a few days at the dock gathering some final supplies we decided to sail over to Sausalito where it was free to moor the boat. Dave and I were both a bit nervous about maneuvering in the busy San Francisco Bay. The wind was blowing strong as we sailed past Alcatraz. I thought it wouldn’t have been that challenging to escape by swimming to shore from the island. Sure the water is cold and there are currents but if you’re swimming at full steam with freedom on your mind it would be a small challenge to overcome. We pulled in amongst hundreds of other boats in varying states of decay. Dave was concerned about the quality of their lines and the likelihood of them drifting towards Dolce.

Over the final few days I was visited by a few different friends who happened to be in the area and wanted to wish us the best. They were both excited and fearful for my journey ahead. Chocolate, wine, and other goodies were gratefully added to Dolce’s hold. After big hugs and a few tears we said goodbye for what would likely be a few years or more.

Before leaving Dave and I had one of our few disagreements. We didn’t have a watermaker on board so I thought we should be carrying plenty of water. Dave seemed to think we didn’t need much. He ended up asking his expert cruising consultant who recommended bringing even more than I was suggesting. We ended up buying more containers to carry water. In the end they thankfully were not needed.

The high winds and rough seas that Dave had wished to avoid were forecast to subside over the next few days so we decided to set sail ASAP. We got a slip at a marina for the final loading of water and provisions. It was a sunny and calm morning in the bay when we set sail. Setting sail is not the right choice of words because a calm morning meant no winds. I pumped up the inflatable SUP and paddled after Dave as he motored Dolce out of the crowded Sausalito bay. I paddled past a group of other paddleboarders who smiled regular old smiles. I couldn’t help but think that they would be the last people (other than Dave) that I would see in a long, long, time. If only they knew that the next land I was going to touch was 2,200 miles away in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Maybe I would have got a hug or a kiss from some of them. I would have liked that.

As I paddled out of Sausalito the wind was yet to pick up enough for Dave to feel comfortable with sail power alone. San Francisco bay has lot’s of gigantic ship traffic and the currents under the Golden Gate can be very powerful. I was happy to paddle under the bridge anyways. It was a very special moment to be leaving North America by SUPing under the Golden Gate Bridge. I looked up and saw some of the tourists looking down. If only they knew...

Shortly after we cleared the fast currents that flow under the bridge the wind picked up and Dave cut the motor and raised the sails. I climbed on board and off we went into the relatively pacified Ocean. Next stop Hawaii.

Or so we thought. After an hour or so of sailing the wind died and we were vulnerably floating around on the edge of major shipping channels. We decided to head into Bolinas Bay for the night and wait for the wind to pick up. We dropped the anchor and kept up a watch in fear that we might drag our hook into the breaking waves and onto the beach. The hook held fine and the next morning we raised the sails again.

We sailed most of the day but in light winds and strong currents. Come nightfall the wind had died once again and we were left floating directly in the middle of the main shipping channels. We had our AIS on to make sure the ships would not run us over but there was certainly no guarantee that we were safe. It was a long 4 hour night shift watching the lights of big ships as they thankfully diverted course to avoid plowing us over.

The wind eventually picked up early in the morning and we finally made our way out of the shipping channels and further offshore. We sailed to the edge of the continental shelf just south of the Farallon islands before the wind left us once again. It seemed like perfect timing as we soon heard and smelled the loud breaths of the largest creatures on earth.

Okay, they weren’t blue whales but they were still massive and amazing relatives. Grey and Humpback whales were everywhere around us. They seemed to be happily feasting on the plethora of food to be found on the edge of the continent. The water was glassy and seemed inviting so I hopped in for a dip careful not to get swallowed by a whale...whatever that means.

A tiny yellow bird also joined us at this time. It was surprising to see such a tiny non sea bird so far out at sea. I was bit concerned that they had been blown off shore by the wind but considering there was barely any wind it didn’t make much sense. It took a brief rest on our boat and was soon off exploring again… or doing whatever it was doing. Beats me.

This ended up being the last calm we would experience for a very long time. The glassy water surface became interrupted by tiny ripples at first. It came in gusts and patches but soon it was clear that it was time to raise the sails. Within minutes we are cruising comfortably on a direct course to Hawaii.

The comfort would not last. Over the next two days the wind gradually increased. First reef, second reef, third reef. The practice of reefing a sail was new to me. I was accustom to simply letting the sail out in order to lessen the power of the wind on it. I had grown up sailing mostly small single sail vessels in pleasant conditions. Reducing the area of your sails is an essential part of sailing in strong winds. Dolces reefing system was set up in a way that you didn’t need to leave the cockpit in order to put in a reef. It worked okay but there was plenty of room for improvement.

Shortly after reefing the sails as much as we could it was clear that the boat was still a bit overpowered by the wind. It was challenging to hold a course as the wind was gusting above 40 knots. Although not absolutely necessary, Dave and I decided it would be a good time to test out our storm gear and heavy weather tactics. We had both read up on a technique that had proven to be very effective for a well respected cruising couple. Considering we were both completely inexperienced with the technique we figured it would be a good idea to experiment and test it out. It ended up being an exhausting failure.

First we hove to, which is an essential offshore sailing technique for stalling the boat in place (with a minimal amount of downwind drift). We then deployed our sea anchor, a small parachute that sits below the surface and holds the bow of the boat into the waves. We also had a bridle in place in order to keep the boat at an angle to the waves and therefore diminish their force on the boat.

The book by these cruisers makes this technique seem simple in practice, and perhaps it is for their boat in certain conditions, for us it wasn’t working. Dolce was repeatedly tacking through the wind which would pull the bridle line under her hull and risk it getting stuck on the rudder or prop. After hours of trying to make it work with little success we eventually needed to cut loose the bridle line after it became stuck under the boat.

Dave was cold and thoroughly exhausted by this point and passed out on the cockpit floor. I kept warm due to the dry suit that I had on and because of this I was able to go out on deck in much more comfort. I kept a consistent watch for chafe on the sea anchor rode (rope/line). The sea anchor was not effective in keeping our bow into the waves and instead we spent the next 12 hours plus lying ahull. This meant that waves would all too frequently crash onto Dolce’s beam with a deafening boom and a force that threatened to roll her over. It was a very unexpected turn of events which made it all the more scary.

To top it all off I discovered how poorly waterproofed Dolce’s cabin was. Every time a wave hit us water would come streaming in through gaps in the cockpit hatch. There was also consistent drips coming from too many of the portholes (cabin windows). The cabin was not nearly as nice of a sanctuary from the weather as I had hoped or imagined.

Every couple hours I would don a harness and climb out the hatch as quickly as possible to avoid letting a wave enjoy the warmth of the cabin. Once on deck I would clip my carabeener to a strap running forward towards the bow. I would then crawl along the deck as the boat was tossed like a rubber ducky in the 5m seas. When a wave hit I would be temporarily in a waterworld with several serious thoughts in my head. The thoughts weren’t running through my head but rather they were posted up solid like anvils on my brain. How would I climb back onto deck if I were swept overboard and hanging upside down from my harness? How should I hold on if the boat were to roll and do a full flip? Would I be able to hold my breath and wait for it to roll back topside up? Or would I need to swim to the surface? hmmmm.

I never did figure out the answers to those questions. I scampered to the bow in the dark feeling like a character out of some wild seafaring epic. A bit surreal. If I didn’t have a look of fear on my face I’m pretty sure I had a smirk. I live for this sort of thing. When forced to survive I feel alive. I feel like my body and soul are doing what they were designed for. I feel alive.

Every time I made it to the bow I would let out a bit of rode and adjust the chafe gear to redistribute the tension. The force of the rode on the bow roller had bent it out of place quite significantly. Other than that potentially disasterous occurence, everything was okay.

After about 18 hours of this discomfort Dave arose from his deep recovery sleep and took the helm once again. The wind and seas had subsided so he pulled in the anchor, which had been tripped by the bridle line, and raised the sails. We were sailing again.

Minor damage had occured. One side of the dodger (cockpit cover) was blown out, the bow roller was bent, and the cabin and much of it’s contents were wet. Other than that we were good to go!

There wasn’t much sun over the next few days but when it finally showed itself Dolce took on the look of a bizarre ocean yard sale. Clothes and cushions sprawled across the deck soaking up the rays. Things are much more comfortable at sea when your stuff is dry!

When I’m not sleep deprived and the boat is not dripping with water on the inside I am very much at peace while at sea. When things are going smoothly there’s nowhere I’d rather be than cruising on the Ocean. When things are rough, the ocean seems angry, and the boat appears weak and vulnerable, there is nowhere I’d rather be but somewhere dry and not moving. This is not a feeling that you want to focus on though, and I never do while at sea. It would be a terrible mistake to focus on something unattainable in the moment. I focus on what I need to do to keep myself healthy and the boat afloat. I also tend to appreciate how crazy and gnarly the experience is, how grateful I am to be out there, how in tune with the elements I feel.

After the storm Dave altered our course a bit further south and we soon were enjoying warmer waters and air. Arriving at the latitude of the Mexican border we turned directly towards Hawaii. We settled into the consistent 10-20 knot trade winds blowing us westward. Sailing directly downwind is something that we would later learn some sailors entirely avoid doing. The reason being that many boats end up rolling back and forth constantly. Dolce is small and she rolled like the best of them. I quickly became used to it but Dave did not find it very comfortable. He experimented with some different sail configurations but it didn’t really help.

We managed and were happy to be averaging 120 miles a day. Four hours on and four hours off. Reading books, listening to podcasts, and dancing to music. I was dancing at least. Whenever Dave was sleeping below Dolce’s deck became the sight of the best solo dance party in that part of the Pacific Ocean.

Dave and I would alternate cooking meals. Sometimes I would impress Dave by my creations and sometimes I would disgust him. That’s my creative cooking style for you. Apart from some of my failed creations we ate very well. No refrigeration on board but it wasn’t needed, until I caught a fish.

I had never done any true offshore fishing. I did my research thanks to Dave’s extensive library of over 100 books on board. I deployed a simple handline with some tuna lures that were gifted by some awesome friends in Tofino. The first time I deployed the line for a few hours I had no luck. The second time it took a couple hours for the bite to occur. What a rush!

I quickly yelled at Dave to come and take the helm while I grabbed the line and started pulling it in. For some weird reason whatever it was didn’t seem to be putting up much of a fight.

I only had about 50 feet of line out so it took less than a minute to pull it alongside the boat. By that time Dave had slowed the boat and was able to take the line while I readied the Gaff. As i looked over board I saw a big fat yellowfin Tuna and hundreds of its friends swimming along with us in the deeper water. It was a powerful scene. I wondered what it’s buddies were thinking. I realized that if they wanted to they could do some serious damage to the boat and us. Thankfully Tuna aren’t like that.

With one swing of the gaff I hooked the tuna by the head and hoisted it on board. It must have weighed about 40lbs. I quickly got my marlingspike and stabbed into it’s brain canal. I had read that this is the best and quickest way to kill a Tuna. Like with many animals the quicker you kill them the better the meat tastes. It was an intense experience for a rookie but I did it without issue. I then made some slits with the knife in order to bleed it out.

I hung it by its tail over the stern of the boat and thought about a massive shark stealing it from us. That never happened. After 15 minutes I brought it back on deck and fileted it. While I was cutting it up Dave was already busy preparing it in various ways to eat.

We feasted on tuna for a couple days. Tuna steaks, tuna tacos, tuna sashimi, tuna sushi, tuna vindaloo, tuna ceviche, tuna soup, too much tuna! It was a big fish and we didn’t have any refrigeration. Some of it went back into the Ocean to feed the fish before it was digested by us. We didn’t feel good about that and needless to say we didn’t fish again for the rest of the crossing. There was enough food on board as it was.

After leaving the continental shelf we didn’t see any other boats except for one night when I spotted the lights of a ship in the distance. The AIS informed me that it was a Navy Hospital ship. I didn’t believe it but decided not to take aggressive action just in case.

We did see one other boat the night before arriving in Hawaii. We came within a mile of the Enchantress, another small sailboat who happened to be an equal 24 days out from California. We spoke to the captain on VHF and informed him of our similar plans to wait out the night before making landfall in Hilo.

Land hooooooooo!

The next day the volcanoes of the Big Island appeared from behind the clouds. Wow. At the same time the trade winds disappeared. We spent the whole morning slowly beating into light winds before we were able to enter into Hilo Harbour. I hopped off onto the SUP while Dave decided where to drop the hook. The smell of land was bizarre and comforting. What a feeling.

The moment I stepped on shore that night I felt an energy like no other I had ever felt in my life. I fell in love with Hawaii instantly.

Dave, Dolce, and I had just sailed over 2300 miles in 25 days from San Francisco to Hilo, Hawaii. I was super stoked, but... the previous night I had woken from a bad dream that was soon to play out in my waking life.

]]>Sailing the Pacific - 1st Passage: San Francisco to HawaiiNear Death Cycling With Giants and Ticks.Markus PukonenTue, 12 Apr 2016 11:01:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/pacific-coast-cycling555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:57d660c38419c25872212ae3will choose to let their body be ripped from their head before they loosen
their blood sucking chompers.After saying goodbye to Diane. I decided to milk the creature comforts of a hotel for a bit longer and extend my checkout time until 1pm. In the meantime I needed to haul my 50lb dry bag to the post office to send it down to San Francisco where I would load it onto the sailboat. They laughed at me when I arrived at the post office with the giant oversized bag. It cost $120 to send it down the road. It literally and figuratively lifted a weight off my back.

It had been 5 years since I had biked the pacific coast on my first serious paved cycle-touring adventure. I say paved because a couple years before that my girlfriend and I had started to bike the Great divide trail. It goes from Banff along the Rocky Mountains all the way to Mexico, 90% of it off pavement. We made it halfway through Montana and through a snowstorm before she had a gnarly accident. A few weeks later she was recovered and keen to do a little tour through New Mexico. She was tough. I highly recommend the trail!

On the previous trip south along the coast I was intending to bike all the way to Acapulco to meet my family for Christmas. I decided to do it, then bought my bicycle off of craigslist, and planned the trip, all within the week before I left Vancouver. It was early November and I was hoping to bike 200 km a day for 40 days in order to be in time for Christmas.

The U.S. border patrol almost didn’t let me into the country as they thought I was a freeloading bum. They searched my bags and didn’t even question the pounds of green powder I had in ziploc bags. (Protein powder). My bike needed repairs on the first day. One of the rims had been bent. I was snowed on soon after and realized it would be very challenging to make 150 km/day without finding more hours of sunlight. I ended up biking 2200km as far as San Diego and flew the remaining 2000km to Acapulco. I loved every minute of the experience and hoped to return to do it at a much slower pace someday.

Unfortunately this time along the coast was not going to be any slower of a pace. Dave and Dolce were waiting for me in San Francisco. I needed to boogie and spin those wheels all day long. At this point of the trip I think I’ve become dangerously comfortable and confident in my ability to work hard all day long without much issue. I say this is dangerous because I should probably be more cautious and careful to ease into things like this in order to prevent injury. Thankfully the biking felt great.

I climbed into the foothills of the Olympic mountains and camped at a beautiful lake. It was early April and although the first few nights were quite chilly in my thin sleeping bag, there were record breaking warm temperatures coming my way for the rest of the journey. The beaches of the Washington state coast were quite spectacular. I camped amongst giant Seamounts and massive driftwood. The road was fairly quiet and I had very little interaction with the locals.

I discovered there is a movement towards creating a much larger protected area on the Olympic Peninsula. It seems some people are opposed because they believe they will lose their logging jobs and their livelihood. The protected area would still allow for sustainable forest practices but likely some people would indeed lose their jobs. As is the case with the fossil fuel industry many people will lose their jobs when we move to a sustainable economy. The good news is that we can adapt and many more new jobs will be created.

I came close to having a head on collision with a truck on the two-lane bridge across the Columbia River from Washington to Oregon. I’d like to think that they simply didn’t see me when they pulled out to pass someone but I find that hard to believe. It wouldn’t be the only time I would run into the thankfully rare species of agro pickup trucks.

I spent the night at the home of a very welcoming track coach. He was so welcoming that he invited me to his house to stay even though he was not present. I had found his contact on an online community of Cycling tourists. He told me how to get into his house and where to safely store my bicycle. He had another guest who would welcome me but she was not yet there. I made myself at home and an hour later was greeted by a very peaceful doctor with vietnamese roots. She had a very calming presence and we had an interesting conversation about fear and anxiety. When I said goodbye she hinted something about my passport which aroused suspicion in me. Shortly down the road I discovered that she had stashed a little folded up letter in my passport.

When I climbed into my sleeping bag that night I brought out the note and read it. She had very kind words to say and I had apparently had a big impact on her. It was somewhat surprising as I had felt like she was rather unimpressed and not very interested in what I was doing. In our conversation the previous night she had mentioned that she had met many people passing through that house with similar missions. She finished the note offering her services as a doctor, if I ever needed help I could give her a call at any hour. Amazing. I was in need of an expedition doctor.

Oregon was experiencing record hot temperatures for March as I biked down the coast. It was a much more pleasant ride than my frozen experience in November a few years prior. I was able to comfortably sleep outside on the beach with no bugs or rain. The miles flew by as I passed places that I would have loved to spend days, if not weeks, exploring and enjoying.

I think most Canadians would think that the U.S is a more car-centric culture. Most Canadians also live in cities that have pretty good bike infrastructure compared to most U.S. Cities. Unfortunately for cycling tourists in Canada, the moment you leave the city the cycle friendly infrastructure all but disappears. The west coast of the U.S puts Canada to shame when it comes to cycling. There is much better signage, lights, and information for the cyclist. The western states have realized that there is value in treating the cycling tourist with respect and this has become a popular destination for touring.

I made my way down the coast of “The Goonies” where beautiful stretches of white sand are broken up by ancient towers of rock. The contrast of what looks like mountains peaking out of the smooth and flat sand forces you to appreciate the power of the ocean and it’s ability to eat up land. All over the planet the ocean is slowly and surely munching into the seashore, destroying any feeble attempts by humans to keep it at bay. If we are successful at blocking the sea on one shore the ocean will be patient and wait for the moment when weakness shows itself. The ocean knows no time, it flows without conscience, dancing with the moon, it’s currents like blood veins for mother earth.

Heading south through Oregon the cliffs and seastacks are left behind and sand takes over the landscape. Lots of it. The sand dunes of Oregon were one of the more surprising things of the West Coast. The coast is wet and bordered by some of the largest trees on the planet. Somehow a desert has formed right in the middle of a temperate rainforest. Has it always been this way? Or is this the result of deforestation from an ancient culture. I’m only just having this thought many months later and wouldn’t argue on either side as I have so little knowledge of the area. I do, however, find it fascinating how we come to believe in theories of the past based on one persons best guesses. Sometimes they may be right and the science backs them up. Other times the science is manipulated to support their theories, or worse, their ideologies. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate and love science, but as any good scientist will tell you, it is important to have a critical eye and question everything. It’s also important to understand that what science proves one day may be proven wrong the next. It’s changing and evolving just like everything in this spectacular universe.

After doing some research I would believe what the science says about the dunes. They have formed from sand being blown up the gentle sloping shore which is only found in that area of the Oregon coast. The sand is formed from rocks being slowly grinded down as they were transported in rivers over thousands of years from the Rocky mountains to the ocean. Pretty awesome.Some of the dunes are now being destroyed by human introduced invasive grasses. I’m a bit surprised that none of the local grasses and plants figured out how to survive and overtake the dunes. Or was it an ancient culture that destroyed their attempts! Haha

Further down the coast the dunes transition back to a rocky shoreline with more seastacks poking out of the ocean. The road climbs up the mtns that rise from the sea and falls back down into river valleys and bays filled with clammers and fishing boats seeking protection from the swells and storms that come howling down from the Aleutians. Most of the people I meet along the road are from elsewhere, friendly and curious. I’m happy that some people work up the courage to speak to a man in spandex.

As I danced across the border to California something changed. Something is always changing…;) I’m faced with the longest uphill climb of the bike ride, kept afloat by the destination at hand. San Francisco. Just down the road another 500 miles or so. My body feels fine but certainly not as well oiled as it did five years ago when I first spun the pedals up this hill. I’m older now. I think of what I’ve learned and question if I’m wiser. I feel as though I was makinghealthier decisions back then and have come full circle to realize where I went wrong. It’s often the case in Western society that the more common or normal social decisions conflict with your health or that of the planet. It’s tricky to maneuver and navigate those waters and I feel as though it will always be a challenge for me. I am always inspired by those who do it so successfully and live being labelled as a weirdo or a hippy.

I love California. The landscape, the climate, the culture. I could live there but would have serious troubles supporting the U.S. government and it’s corporations wars (ie. Paying taxes there). The industry of military has become out of control and it would pain me to directly support it. I suppose it wouldn’t be too hard to dodge taxes somewhere on the Lost Coast.

The road continues to climb and I’m quickly surrounded by massive redwood trees. They are everywhere. Although it’s a small percentage of what once existed it still makes Canada’s old growth parks look pathetic. Cathedral Grove comes to many peoples minds when they think of big trees in Canada. It’s a tiny few acres of protected trees surrounded by clear cuts on the road across Vancouver Island to Tofino. Almost all of the remaining 2% of Canada’s Old Growth Temperate Rainforest is still being logged. These forests will take many centuries to recover if they ever do. It’s pathetic that we aren't protecting them.

The California redwood parks are spectacular. I could easily spend months walking and exploring amongst these massive trees. The air is fresh and the trees exude a peaceful energy that is comforting to my soul. I feel at peace amongst the giants.

Apparently so do ticks! I don’t know the odds or likelihood of contracting Lime disease from a tick bite (and I don’t think anyone really does), but the burrowing presence of one these little guys in my skin is by far the worst bug experience for me. I quickly accepted it and was hopeful I would not contract Lime, but the mystery and the lack of knowledge around the disease still bothered me. Much more so than getting mosquito bites in areas where Malaria and Dengue Fever are present. I think that’s because mosquitos seem to be everywhere and hard to avoid whereas getting a tick seems a bit less likely and more unlucky.

There are several techniques for removing a tick from your skin and I suggest you do your research to see what may best suit you in the future. Often people recommend using a thread to gently wrap around it’s neck and then gently pull the head out of your skin. The tricky part is to avoid pulling their body apart from their head. Once they have burrowed inside your skin they don’t like to let go and will choose to let their body be ripped from their head before they loosen their blood sucking chompers. This is what can lead to an infection. I discovered the tick when I had come to a stop to chat with some kind looking folks. I think it was them who suggested I try cohersing it out by putting a flame near it’s body. This burnt my leg hair and toasted the tick but it didn’t make it retreat. It was too dead to do that. I was able to gently pull him out after. No circle or signs of infection appeared around the bite site. I was sure to keep an eye on it.

I only crossed paths with three other cyclists on the road down the coast. It was not the busy season. About four days out of San Francisco I stopped at a campsite and shared the hike/bike in site with several other cyclists. A German couple who were on a shorter tour south with heavy bags and bikes and an older man from Florida who was heading north with a set up as light as mine. It’s always good to touch base with the other crazy/more grounded/adventure type people on the planet.

A few hundred kilometers later I came to a bummer discovery. Either my little camera had been stolen while I was in a grocery store or it had fallen out of my bag when I had stopped to dance. At first I was positive that it had been stolen and was quite pissed. I then remembered the moment when it might have been possible for it to have fallen out. There was a nice viewpoint on the side of the road where I decided to film some silly dancing. I kept getting interrupted by passing cars and had continued down the road without scanning the grass for objects left behind. I wasn’t filming with that camera but it was in a green case and could have possibly rolled out of my handlebar bag when my bike was on it’s side. It was a bummer because I had put loads of energy towards making a video of the bike route on that camera.

On my final day of cycling into San Francisco I was joined by another cyclist who was on a long day ride. He had some great alternate route ideas which made the approach to the city quite enjoyable. I was excited and relieved to make it to the Bay Area. I was about to hop on a small boat to sail across the Pacific Ocean.

Markus is traveling 80,000km around the planet without ever using a motor because he believes a sustainable world future is possible. In 8 months he has canoed, trimaraned, hand cycled, pogo sticked, bicycled, tricycled, skied, rafted, kayaked, SUPed, and danced his way across Canada, from Toronto to Tofino. In addition to sharing his vision of change at schools and public events he is partnering with local environmental and social organizations who are dedicated to creating a healthy future for all of us.

Across Canada by canoe, pogostick, skis, and more!Tofino is Tough to LeaveMarkus PukonenTue, 15 Mar 2016 11:41:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/tofino-is-tough-to-leave555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:59c648654c326d162b5fa07aIt was raining at sea level but by the time I made it up to the pass I was
biking beside a snow plow.It was necessary for me to leave Tofino well before I wanted to. Dave and a sailboat were waiting for me in San Francisco and I still had about 2500 km of ground and 40km of Ocean to cover in order to get there. I would have to wave goodbye to my community of family and friends.

I didn’t even get the chance to catch up with some of my friends while I was in Tofino due to the fact that many of them were unaware that I was leaving so soon. It turns out some of them were thinking I might not continue on the journey, that I would consider calling it quits after crossing Canada. That thought never came close to crossing my mind.

Okay, maybe it briefly crossed my mind.

I ran into my amazing friend MP Gord Johns. I'm happy to have someone I can trust representing my community in Ottawa.

One of my sisters friends questioned me as to how I could leave my nieces and sister, pointing out that they needed me. Poor timing to guilt me into giving up on my long time dream. It didn’t work. I had moved to Tofino to be with my sister and nieces knowing I would eventually be undertaking this journey. I didn’t point out that my sister had moved to a small town at the end of the road about as far as you can get from our family and community in Toronto. She had long ago come to terms with being far from family. I understood, appreciated, and accepted why she did this. She didn’t need me and neither did my nieces. Sure, family can always use help but I knew she would be fine without me and had a strong community to support her and the family. Besides, I wouldn’t be of much help if I wasn’t happy and healthy following my heart. I won’t go into this any further, apart from saying that I believe love in the form of attachment often leads to suffering. The best love comes from a place of acceptance.

The community of Tofino is very accepting indeed! It is a diverse community of awesome characters who have often sacrificed something(often including their proximity to family) in order to live at the end of the road in what some might call a paradise. Or a lovely rainbow bubble floating in a different reality.

I was a bit overwhelmed and uprepared for the awesome support I received when I decided to dance out of town. Bob Purdy of Paddle for the Planet presented me with a beautiful paddle. My lovely friend, the honorable Mayor Josie Osborne, was present. An elephant like creature on stilts and many friends of all shapes, sizes, and colours were there to help dance me out of town. For some reason I failed to prepare myself for being the center of attention. I felt inclined to give a speech but hadn’t planned any words and ended up feeling quite awkward as I stumbled over my thoughts. Thankfully I was wearing tiny flourescent shorts and not expected to be taken seriously anyways.

There was a parade of about 50 of us dancing and cycling out of town. It was bittersweet. It felt so good to be surrounded and loved by this awesome community but it was also the last time I would see most of them for a very long time.

As we made out way out of town down the bike path that I had cycled thousands of times the crowd began to thin out. One last dance with some bears at the info center and I was on my bike with the remaining six riders. My 7 yr old niece, Ocea, was one of them. I was super impressed considering many of the others thought it was too far to continue from that point. People’s sense of distance and what they can accomplish is bizarre sometimes.

Four of us, including my sister, made the journey all the way to Ucluelet. It was great to have company on the road and I hoped many more people would continue to join me. I stayed the night at my friend Dave’s place.

Always has my back. I miss their Gelato.

In the morning Dave, my friend Sam, and I cycled the nice path from Ucluelet to the junction where the highway heads back north to Tofino or across the island to Port Alberni and Nanaimo. I hugged goodbye and left the peninsula I call home for what I was guesstimating to be five years.

The road from the coast is narrow and not very bike friendly. It winds back and forth beside rock walls and precipitous cliffs as it climbs to a mountain pass. It was raining at sea level but by the time I made it up to the pass I was biking beside a snow plow. My hands and toes were numb but my spirit was warm and happy for the adventure ahead.

I made it to Port Albernia that night to give a presentation to a small group of mostly friends that I had made there while fighting fires. The next day I rolled on to Nanaimo to speakto a group of planning students at Vancouver Island University. Before the event I spoke live on CBC.

My bicycle was in decent shape but I was in need of new tires for the long journey down the coast. One of the professors at the University introduced me to the owner of a local bike shop that offered to help me out. Rock City Cycles deserves some big respect for helping a stranger in need out. Thank you!

From Nanaimo I continued south to Yellow Point to stay with a good buddy from university and his quickly growing family. The next night I cruised to Duncan and stayed with some friends who I knew from Tofino. I then had a beautiful ride while passing some of the few remaining ancient trees on the island to Port Renfrew. I was sure to arrive there in good time to celebrate the upcoming marriage of my good friend and Routes of Change board member, Jessie. I would miss the wedding in June while in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

After the stag I cycled down the coast road past some good surf breaks to my friends place in Sooke. From there I had a pleasant ride into Victoiria along the Galloping Goose Trail. I arrived in time to speak at an event organized by the Victoria Green Team. The Mayor of Sanich was also there to say a few words. We then planted some trees in the park.

While in Victoria, I stayed at my good friend and Ocean Rowing mate, Adam Kreek’s house. Check this out if you don’t know the story. www.oarnorthwest.com Unfortunately, he was on a road trip with his family down the coast ahead of me and we never crossed paths. I did a presentation at the MEC store and visited with several different friends. My new friend who helped organize the event in Saanich also introduced me to The Ancient Forest Alliance. They have done a great job of working with all shareholders to save the remaining Old Growth Forest on Vancouver Island. I’m happy to be supporting them.

I was also planning my departure from Canadaby crossing the water to Washington. My good friend Harold at Whitehall Spirit Rowing had introduced me to his coworker Diane. She was keen to row with me across the Juan de Fuca strait to Port Angeles, USA. I was grateful to have company for a crossing that could quickly turn into an epic and excruciating challenge.

My sister and nieces came down to say goodbye once more before I left Canada for the long haul around the planet. I was hoping and pretty sure they would come visit me somewhere along the way but it wasn’t written in stone. It was an emotional last couple of days with them. We would both be very different beings the next time we saw each other.

My kayaking partner from Vancouver to the Island made this eggcellent piece of art. Then she threw it at an oil pipeline! Perfect...but not true. I hope she ate it with some veggies.

I wish. Or do I? What does this even mean?

]]>Hope to VancouverMarkus PukonenTue, 02 Feb 2016 20:04:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/hope-to-vancouver555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:56f43a43f8baf3dafda61a0dThe following is a blog post from Nikki Rekman. She is amazing. A week previous to this trip I put an ask out to see if anyone was interested in paddling from Hope to Vancouver. I had no boat or paddling gear and my requests to friends in the area were not working out. Nikki answered the call without knowing me and did a spectacular job forming a dream team canoe trip in short time. It was a wonderful gift to meet Nikki and the team the morning after my toughest and most uncomfortable day of skiing across BC. I'm forever grateful to her and everyone who joined for the lovely paddle to Vancouver. Here's Nikki!:

Mark and I had discussed doing a winter paddling trip down the Fraser River this year but we never expected the impetus would be a guy, we had never met, circumnavigating the planet without the use of a motor.When life and the paddling community comes together - cool stuff happens and being a part of the Fraser River leg of the Routes of Change expedition was no exception.On a dark, cool morning in late January a group of paddlers, who didn’t all know each other, headed out from Chilliwack, BC. We had arranged to meet, Canadian explorer and adventurer, Markus Pukonen at a pre-arranged put-in on the Fraser River.What were we thinking?We were thinking, “Let’s have an adventure!”As we were loading up our Clipper canoes (thanks to Western Canoeing and Kayaking in Abbotsford, BC) we see a tall, blond haired guy with skis on his back, walking towards us and our piles of gear, it’s Markus and the adventure is about to begin. He had recently skied from Kelowna to Hope to begin the next leg of his expedition.After the obligatory pre-trip photo, we were off.

Our first day we logged 57 km and were forced off the water due to crazy-winds, just downstream from Island 22 near Chilliwack, BC. The wind was so strong, that this would be the only time of the trip that SUP paddler, Jason Bennett would be found sitting down! We had hoped to make it past Chilliwack on day 1 but alas the weather had other plans for us.Camp #1 ended up being very comfortable and we were able to enjoy our evening without wind and rain to spend a little time around the campfire. That was about the only dry spell on the trip.Day two was also wet and cool but our crew was well-dressed and comfortable in our Kokatat gear (can’t imagine doing any kind of paddling trip at this time of year without a drysuit! Thanks, Kokatat). It was another long day, 56 km bringing us to Derby Reach Regional Park in Langley, BC. The Fraser River is tidal below Mission, BC so our current had slowed significantly, from the Hope to Chilliwack section of the river and so far the tides had been in our favour.

Photo: Nikki Rekman Sales

Camp #2 ended up being quite decadent given the wet weather as we hijacked the kitchen shelter and set up ALL of our gear, including our tents to have a dry night’s sleep. We were a bit nervous about getting kicked out of the park (it’s closed after dark) but we were tired, cold and hungry and we had arrived by canoe and SUP board – what were they going to do? Thankfully, the park ranger never showed up.

Our 3rd and final day was surprise, wet and cool but the change in scenery was different than what most of us were used to on trips and kept things interesting. The lower section of the Fraser River is very industrial and of course, goes right through New Westminster, North Richmond and South Vancouver. We saw a fair bit of commercial traffic and paddling underneath all the bridges was very cool.

Photo: Nikki Rekman Sales

There were a few things that struck me about this trip, #1 it was amazing how competent and cohesive our small group of 7 paddlers was given that we didn’t really know each other before the trip. We really left the trip having made new friends and #2 how unexplored the Fraser River is by paddlers and #3 and possibly the most important, how one person’s dream (Markus’ dream to circumnavigate the planet) brought a group of like-minded people together for an amazing paddling adventure! THANK YOU, Markus!Our goal was to help get Marcus to Vancouver and after 44 km on day 3 the sun came out (seriously, that’s how it happened) and greeted us just below the Arthur Laing Bridge at Fraser River Park.

We did it and we had a blast being a part of the Routes of Change expedition.If you have a chance to join Markus at some point in his journey, do it, you won’t regret it.

Gallery Photos above : Peter Brennan

Paddlers: Markus Pukonen, Jason Bennett, Christina Chowaniec, Nikki Rekman, Mark Klein, Peter Brennan and Laura Demers.Special thanks to our shuttle drivers, Len Zilkowsky and Monica Demers, to the folks that met us en route with hot beverages and timbits – Lynne Smith and Marlin Bayes from Clipper Canoes and the friends and family that welcomed us at the end of our journey to help us pack up and get Markus on his way again, this time via bicycle. We could not have done it without you!Gear generously supplied by Kokatat and Clipper Canoes.

]]>Ski Across BC - 6 - The Dog Days of WinterMarkus PukonenSun, 31 Jan 2016 12:16:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/ski-across-bc-part-6-the-final-stretch555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:571d1e517c65e4606a87c784They turned around and backed off, but they had read my bluffMy near run in with the police left me with a new appreciation and perspective of things. I still had a long journey ahead to get across BC, but I felt like I had lifted a brick off my back. The time with my nieces and family also reminded me why I’m doing this.

I biked down the mountain in the snow and was covered in road dirt as I arrived to share my story at my Niece in law Emily's school. After that I made my way to the lake and the lovely home of some amazingly supportive family friends. Paul and Louise helped to organize a talk at the library, contact media, and feed me, among a long list of other things. It was a great time with family and friends.

shhhhuk shhhhuuuk shhhhuk shhhhuuuk ……… often the loudest sound on my journey across BC was my skis scraping along the snow. I came to appreciate the need for the inuit’s 28 or more words to describe snow. I often found my english vocabulary lacking when it came to describing the varying textures, sounds, and looks of the snow on which I travelled. There’s so many degrees of wet, hard, crunchy, and powder. Using “more” or “less” to describe the snow certainly doesn’t do it justice.

When I left Vernon I was more concerned about a different scraping noise on my skis. My planned route south to Kelowna would take me along a railroad track that was in the process of being torn up in favour of a multi use trail. Once in a while a railroad spike would be hiding at the surface and peel a layer of my ski off as I slid over it. Ouuuch.

Apart from that issue the trail was great. It hugged the shore of two lakes and some beautiful countryside. Big fluffy snow flakes began to fall as I reached the half way mark. I was then met by the local Kelowna T.V. station and did an interview with a reporter half my size and not very comfortable in the snow. Good times!

The 50km ski took longer than expected and I arrived on the outskirts of Kelowna in the dark. I skied past the airport and had some funny thoughts. I love traveling and enjoy airports but realized I would not be in an airport for a long time. I had a momentary longing to travel through an airport. Haha

I was getting pretty tired as I continued to ski in the dark towards the center of Kelowna. It had been a while since I was in a city and I had thoughts of some drunken teenagers starting a fight with me. I then noticed the silhouette of someone walking down the snowy trail towards me. I was on guard and ready to defend myself. There was no need as it was my good friend Warren surprising me!

I was staying at his and Ashley’s place that night and he had kindly come to greet me with a bike so I could arrive sooner. Fresh Air Concept was awesome to lend me the bike for my time in Kelowna. I have known Ashley since first year University and got to know Warren better when they were living in Tofino. They surprised me with the exciting news that there was a baby on the way.

Warren is a teacher and did a great job of connecting me with several different schools in the Kelowna area. I biked all over the town and had so much fun entertaining and inspiring the kids. In between the school visits, speaking to media, and catching up with Ashley and Warren, I managed to get to some much needed and appreciated yoga classes in at Moksha Yoga Kelowna.

It was hard to leave Kelowna but I had made plans to meet some folks for a paddle down the Fraser River. I borrowed a beater bicycle to get me out of the city and closer to the snow. I locked it up and hid the key for my friends to pick it up when they were next out that way.

The trek towards the snow began from Peachland on Okanagan Lake. It started to rain. My heavy skis were strapped to my lightweight backpack. I would have been freezing if I wasn’t burning so much energy. Over the next hour I would climb higher and higher as the rain transitioned to snow.

I’ll take dry snow over cold wet rain anyday! I was happy to reach the white stuff and start skiing again. Because my clothes were wet I needed to keep moving to stay warm. I skied about 30 km to reach some cabins that I had unsuccesfully attempted to contact by email. I was relieved to see lights, but that relief was short lived when the caretakers were not interested in helping me stay warm that night. I managed to convince them to let me stay in a woodshed. It wasn’t any better than if I was sleeping under a tree somewhere.

The next day I had a long ski on fresh snow covered forest service roads. I didn’t see a single soul for 35 km of skiing. I made it to the Kettle Valley Rail trail and met new friends down the way in Bankeir. They invited to their campfire and gave me a warm place to stay for the night.

I awoke to a blue bird day and smooth traveling along the railtrail. I covered over 50kms and was joined by a big friendly white dog for the final 10km of night skiing. He wanted to keep me company but was a bit skittish. I was happy to have someone to talk to. He followed me all the way to my Couchsurfing spot in Princeton and then disappeared and I never saw him again.

After a lovely stay with my new friend I was up early and ready to charge towards Vancouver. The Kettle Valley Rail Trail is awesome and apparently also makes for a great bike in the summer. I passed by the quirky town of Coalmont and arrived in Tulameen at dusk.

I was hoping to find a warm bed for the night but nothing seemed to be open. I had been invited to stay at someone’s house but there was no cell service in order to find out where they lived. I managed to get the number for a rental place and they gave me directions on how to find the house. The town was very dark and I was having troubles finding the place when I decided to ask at a random house. Serendipitously it turned out to be the folks who had originally offered me a place to stay!

I left the next morning on my way to the Coquihalla Pass. Shortly after climbing out of town I passed a farm and two adorable dogs came running out after me. They seemed a bit nervous and skittish. Similar to the previous dog that had accompanied me I assumed that thier owners were not very friendly and that they were likely in search of someone to take them to a safer spot.

After a while I realized it probably wasn’t a good idea for them to follow me for such a long distance through the mountains. I yelled at them and told them to return home. They were startled at first and looked as though they would listen to my commands. They turned around and backed off, but they had read my bluff. I wasn’t truly angry at them and I loved them and their company. They could tell.

When I was at the top of the next hill I gave it my best to yell at them and chase them back towards home. It worked and I sped off in the opposite direction for a super fast and fun long downhill section. The roads had been groomed like a skihill for snowmobiles to enjoy but thankfully there were no motors to be seen or heard.

Shortly after I had arrived at the bottom and continued skiing along the road, I noticed something in the corner of my eye. Trotting down the road behind me I saw my two new best friends. This time I waited for them as I realized they were in it for the long haul. I gave them some of my salmon jerky and offered some water.

45 kms of ups and downs later we arrived at the Coquihalla cabins. One of the dogs was happy to hop inside the cabin with me but the other one was much too afraid. He wasn’t nearly as afraid when we were on the trail but obviously had bad relations with being close to buildings. It rained that night and must have been miserable for the poor fellow. The owner of the cabins gave me some food to feed them but the one dog seemed too afraid to come near to enjoy it.

I thought about the best plan of action. I would have adopted them if I wasn’t on a journey around the planet without a motor. I contemplated bringing them to a rescue center but I wasn’t in a position to do that either. I let the owner of the cabins know the whereabouts of where they followed me from and he said he would figure out how to get them back home.

When I left in the morning they needed to be tied up to prevent them from following me again. I was relieved they didn’t follow me that day because they wouldn’t have been able to do it. Due to the rain and the uncompact trail the snow was deep and slushy. It was slow going on skiis but would have been impossible by foot or paws.

I had been looking forward to this final 60km of downhill from the Coquihalla pass into Hope. The weather the night before wasn’t very promising but at least there was still plenty of snow on the ground. I started the day on an old railway path and then tranisitoned onto a gas pipeline trail.

A few hours into the day I skied down a hill and up to my knees in a puddle that was disguised in the snow. It was going to be a very long day. Apparently I wasn’t alone on the trail that day. Gigantic cougar tracks crisscrossed my path.

As I dropped in elevation the snow became wetter and heavier. I soon came to streams rushing across the trail and was forced to throw my bag and skis across. Leaping from the soft wet snow I narrowly made it across to the other side. I repeated this process several times before the snow disappeared altogether. I had only enjoyed about 15 km of slushy skiing. So much for the great downhill finale.

Another five km and I came to the highway. The trail crossed the highway but due to all of the melting snow and rain it quickly transformed into a lake. In the light I was able to find alternative routes through the forest but as it became dark I was forced onto the highway

The day was turning out to be quite epic. I was now walking in the dark down the shoulder of a busy, cold, and wet highway. I had eaten all of my food and was still burning calories fast with my skis on my back. In this day and age it was depressing to see that people still throw their garbage on the side of the road. I was, however, able to take advantage of it and gain much needed energy. I found some perfectly fine unopened ketchup packets. Yummy road score!!!

After about 15 km of walking on the highway I was able to get in touch with my couchsurfing host and let them know why I was late. They offered to bring me a bike to coast down to Hope on. I couldn’t refuse. I love making new friends like these!!!

I was pretty exhausted and would have loved to hang out more with these awesome new friends, but early the next morning I needed to walk down the street to hop in a Canoe with some more new friends!

]]>Ski Across BC - 5 - On the Run from the Cops!SkiingMarkus PukonenSat, 16 Jan 2016 12:15:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/ski-across-bc-part-5-a-close-call-with-the-cops555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:571d1b779f7266bb8a454bb6My heart was pounding in my chest. This was by far the most fearful moment
of the journey.Seriously though. It came very close to happening. I was moments away from making the decision. This is how it all came to be.

I had recently just finished another great leg of the ski across BC with my hardcore sister in law Marta and was looking forward to a fun week ahead. Both my sisters and nieces and their family were coming to have fun at the local Silver Star ski resort for a few days. Of course the ski hill was a ways up the mountain and I would have to figure out how to get up there. Thankfully Marta’s husband Alex loves bikes and hooked up a great one for me to pedal up the mountain.

On the way up I got many weird looks and honks of support, as I suppose it’s not common for people to bike up the mountain in January. One of those honks turned out to be from a friend of mine who I used to fight fires with. It was great to see him and we made a plan to have dinner when I came back down the mountain. I ended up arriving at our rental cabin before the rest of the family who had become occupied buying supplies in town. Funny, considering some of them were concerned about me making it up in time for dinner.

It was so good to see everyone. We feasted and started making plans for the days ahead. I went tubing with my nieces and of course I avoided using the tow rope to get up the hill. I was able to walk up just as fast anyways. We also went toboganning. Chalk up another two modes of transportation to the list.

The following day my brother in law Dylan was up for joining me for some uphill skiing (skinning) and downhill telemark skiing. We set out from the cabin and climbed up all the way to the peak of the mountain. He was a much more experienced skier than I and gave me some tips on how to turn properly. This was my first time telemark skiing on groomed ski runs and without a backpack on. I wasn’t very good but I was able to control my descent without hurting myself.

Big Thanks to MEC for all of the gear I needed to get me here and across BC!

Sometimes an older and simpler design is exactly what you need. Thankfully MEC had what I was looking for.

It was a pleasure to ski with good company on open terrain. We skied all the way to the bottom skilift of the resort, which happens to reach a substantial distance below the village and ticketing area. From there we strapped back on the skins and started a somewhwat direct route up through a steep treed area. Before we reached the top of the first steep slope we were met by a ski patroller. He informed us that we were not allowed to be skinning up the mountain and kindly asked us to return back down the hill to the lift area. Neither of us were very comfortable telemark skiing in the steep and moguled terrain but we managed to get down. I’m sure the ski patroller was laughing at us all the way.

As we made it down to the lift area he informed us that we would need to get on his snowmobile to go to the ski patrol office. I said I can’t do that and told him what I was doing. He radioed his superior and told him the situation. Ten minutes later he came back and said that we could take the lift up with him in order to get to the office. Dylan and I again explained the situation. We pointed out that the lift is still powered by a motor and that is the whole reason why we hadn’t purchased lift tickets and were skinning up the mountain.

Unbeknownst to us at the time the entire ski patrol were getting a good laugh at our ridiculous made up story. They had heard many silly excuses before but this was just nonsense. I had told them my website but they hadn’t bothered to look at it yet.

A half hour later they returned to inform us of our three options. We could either go up on the snowmobile, take the ski lift, or they would call the Police to escort us off the mountain. Boomp bom bom bom, bom bom bom bom. My heart was pounding in my chest. This was by far the most fearful moment of the journey.

“Are you serious, are you sure there is no way we can figure out an alternative? I can ski down a service road and off your property pretty fast.” Apart from them thinking we were bullshit one of their main issues was liability. It was in their rules to not allow people to skin up the mountain and because we hadn’t purchased lift tickets we weren’t insured. The supervisor was also busy dealing with serious injuries and didn’t have the time or interest to deal with us. I can’t blame him and had no interest in wasting the ski patrol’s valuable resources. I just wanted to get out of there!

Dylan once again pleaded with them to reconsider and look at my website. One of the patrollers informed me of my options if I were to go on the run from the cops, or if they allowed me to leave their property and ski further down the mountain. It would likely have taken me a full 24 hours to get back up to the village to be with my family. I wasn’t happy about missing out on the precious little time with them. Not to mention the fact that I would be on the run from the cops and they would likely be waiting for me when I returned.

They left us alone for a few minutes and Dylan and I discussed the options. My heart was pounding out of my chest at the thought of being forced on a snowmobile or into a copcar but I was also excited about the idea of becoming a fugitive in the backcountry for such a ridiculous reason. You may know by now that I like a good adventure...

I looked to the edge of the forest, then to Dylan, then to the skilift hut. I thought to myself, ‘This might be my only chance to get away. They won’t put up a chase now but they may have to send out a search party later.’ It seemed like a big waste of resources and time. I decided to wait and see if a compromise could be found.

A while later the patroller returned to say that someone had looked at my website and realized that we weren’t bullshitting. Dylan could go up on the lift and buy us tickets. Then we might be allowed to skin back up the hill.

It took over an hour for him to go up, buy tickets, find some food for us, and ski back down. We enjoyed the much needed nourishment and waited for the go ahead for us to ski up. An hour or so later they finally came and said that we could skin up but that we would have to take the longest possible run to the top and do it within an hour. It would have been much faster to go straight up a black diamond but I guess they thought it would be safer if we were to go up a green circle.

They informed us that if we didn’t get to the top in time then they would force me on to a snowmobile and escort me off of the hill. I wasn’t going to allow that to happen without a good fight. They were pretty certain I wasn’t going to make it to the top in time. I wasn’t sure on the distance but knew I needed to start moving fast! I told Dylan that I was fine going solo but he was keen to join me for support.

Considering the fact that I had just skied about 300kmacross BC I was in much better shape than Dylan who was on skis for the first time that year. It wasn’t long before I left him in the dust. I couldn’t afford the time to wait for him and risk a confrontation with the ski patrol supervisor on a snowmobile. They wanted me to radio when I was at a lift halfway with the intention of getting me to stop and wait for them. I said hello to the liftee and continued on. I kept pushing as hard as could up the groomed slopes.

As it was getting dark I made the final few strides to where the ski run forked and my downhill victory run awaited. There was a bunch of ski patrollers waiting there who had heard the story. They were stoked I had made it and told me about the funny radio chatter that had taken place earlier. Moments later the snowmobile showed up with the supervisor and Dylan on it. The supervisor did his best to be stern and said he wanted to talk to us back at the office. He dropped Dylan off and whipped off down the hill on his motorized sled.

Dylan told me that the supervisor had been very serious about forcing me on to the sled. Dylan had told him that I wasn’t going to get on no matter what. An awkward conversation no doubt. It was a pleasant last ski down the hill while chatting with the other patrollers. We arrived at the office ready to receive a slap on the wrist (or a fine?) from the bossman.

The anal head patroller guy was busy dealing with what sounded like a very painful injury so we never did get to speak to him. After waiting around for a few minutes a pleasant lady came out to apologize for the inconvenience and ask if I would be okay answering some questions for their blog. I was happy to oblige. We returned home to the family who were relieved to see and make fun of us. I was okay with not being a fugitive.

A big thanks to Mountain Equipment Co-Op (MEC) for making my ski across BC possible.

]]>A trip to the pub with MartaMarkus PukonenMon, 11 Jan 2016 13:03:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/atriptothepubwithmarta555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:57197ce09f7266c217f00693Go pee careful not to sink up to thighs in fresh powderAfter spending a bizarre New Years in Fauqier and a wonderful couple of nights at the Arrow Beach Cottages, I paddled across Arrow Lake to meet my Sister in law once removed (We need a better word for that relation. I propose: My Sister's love sister. :)) Marta is an inspiring, tough, and strong woman. I'm filled with respect and gratitude for her help in getting me across the Monashee Mountains to Vernon. A special thank you is also in order for her husband Alex who seemed to have a tougher adventure than us while watching the kids at home as we skiied. Thank you Alex! The following words are from Marta:

So I went to the pub the other day. The beer tasted very good. The pub was sandwiched between Kalamalka lake on one side and a rail road on the other. Before meeting up with the lake, the rail road ascends north in the middle of an agricultural valley known as Coldstream. Underneath the Coldstream Valley lies clear groundwater, originating in the Monashee Mountains and getting filtered as it descends towards the lake. I think the fact that I skied 150 km in five days, following the route through three different watersheds, and then descending slowly towards the lake, with all that fresh tasting groundwater beneath me, might be why I was so thirsty!

Markus Pukonen encouraged me to plan a section of his ski route through the interior BC on his "Around the World using only human power" trip. Obviously the next natural step was for me to join him! With two kids under the age of five, working full time, I hadn't exactly been on any backcountry ski trips in a while. My vintage ways sure hit home when Markus was tucking himself into bed the first night, and he casually mentioned he had gotten a sweet MEC sponsorship and there was a new foamie technology called Neoair and it reflected his body heat back at him. Um. I'm not sure if that was the most appropriate time to mention that, as I could literally feel the cold get transferred from the -21C snow, through my "original" thermarest and into the fleshy part of my thighs.

A typical day following Markus Pukonen around the bush went like this: wake up, put old underwear on. Find boots, peel ice off boots, warm hands. Go pee careful not to sink up to thighs in fresh powder and to not knock over perfectly setup stove for tea. Use up ten matches trying to light stove. Break them all. Try lighter. Get blister on thumb. Ask Markus for his lighter. Finally light stove. Cook coffee. Drink coffee with butter. One tablespoon for me, four tablespoons for Markus. Yuck. Pack tent, careful to shake all ice condensation out. Give all heavy stuff to Markus to pack in his pack. Pack one sleeping bag and one pot in my pack. Ski for 4 hours along one logging road. See cougar tracks. See no other people or any sign of people.

Route-find using map and compass to valley bottom. Laugh out loud while watching Markus face plant while attempting to go over a slight jump while carrying two people's gear on back. Oops. Sorry about that route Markus. Cross valley, including crossing unfrozen creek at least four times. Lose Markus. Markus where are you? Find Markus. Reapply wax. Double check route. Eat last yummy cheese and butter and salami wrap leaving just enough for one more lunch before food cache 15 km away. Look for non-existent ATV track. Start Bush Whacking. Whack tele binding every three steps to unstick stuck binding. Find non-existent ATV track, which we had been paralleling for two and a half hours. Go wrong way for 1km. Turn around. Find right clearing, enjoy some turns, and laugh out loud while watching Markus face plant again.

Find a flat spot to camp. Spend 2.5 hours setting up camp including an hour of of gathering firewood (actually twigs is a more accurate description - lots and lots of twigs - the finer the better), eating dinner and drying out socks over fire. Attempt at lighting fire. Send Markus out to get more twigs. Set fire: Hurray! Eat tasty dinner and safely stow last packet of instant oatmeal and chicken noodle soup for breakfast before food cache 10 km away. Setup all waterproof clothing under foamie. Crawl into sleeping bag. Listen to Markus snore. Fall asleep marveling at how happy I feel to do nothing but eat, sleep and ski.

After three and a half days traversing the Monashees we finally emerged back into civilization, and spent the next two days skiing along snowy roadside ditches, railroad tracks, and farmers fields. Finally we emerged at Alexander's pub. Man those beers tasted good. I took a taxi back to my house. Markus of course found a closer place to sleep.

It's so cool to know no matter what, you can always just go from point A to point B under your own power. The amazing thing about being part of Markus Pukonen's adventure is how he rekindled my love of self propelled travel. When I was a kid, we all road bikes or skate boards or walked to get around. We waved at neighbours. We stopped and talked to our friends. What happened to that? In Vernon where I live, 73% of trips are done working 5 km of their destination, the ideal distance to walk or bike. Who cares if it takes half an hour to walk home when you are happily on two wheels, getting your exercise and vitamin D all at once?

Since joining Markus on a section of his adventure, I have changed my ways. I ride both my kids to daycare (they are 3 and 6 and we live at the top of a hill). We ride to soccer as a family. I drop meals off at friends house using my bike and trailer. I walk Emily to the nearest Elementary school from where she takes a school bus to her school. I have chosen to live in a small house 7 blocks away from the office. I have a small 10 year old car. We camp at beautiful local parks in a tent. We enjoy BC, the most beautiful province on earth. We have single track trails that have 1300 m of elevation gain that I can bike to from my door. I work for a company that is a leader in climate change adaptation, mitigation and is trying to think outside the box when it comes to carbon offsets while still making a profit for its Canadian shareholders.

People. Climate change makes all of the other issues of the world so insignificant. Our children's lives will be completely changed for the worst. We are facing the biggest crisis of the last thousand years at least. At best we will be facing mass migration of the human race starting with low lying areas, and more drought, disease, forest fires and floods for the rest of us. I don't want to think about the worst case scenario. There is no way out of this at this point in time, our only option is to minimize the impact of climate change. We must act now. Plus, commuting under your own power is really really fun! It's not really a commute. It's part of my life and my community.

The world has finally started to cooperate on solving the climate change stalemate and I am very encouraged with the Paris convention. Markus - your contribution to leading by example in this extreme way is inspirational. You have helped me reaffirm my love of self powered transport. Now, when someone asks if I want a ride to the start of the mountain bike trail, I say "No thanks. I'll meet you at the trailhead in 22 minutes". However, next time you ask for help with planning a route, I will be putting in that order for a new Sleeping pad, knowing what the "natural progression" might be! Thank you Markus, for saving the planet in this unique and jovial way.

Below is a gallery of many photos from the ski across BC.

]]>A trip to the pub with MartaSki Across BC - 3 - A Merry Kimberly and a Valhalla New Year!Markus PukonenSun, 03 Jan 2016 12:58:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/ski-across-bc-part-3-merry-christmas555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:571d19c2a3360c282c692737I found myself staring into the eyes of a cow moose and her calf.The following leg of the journey came together remarkably smooth thanks to the amazing support from friends and new connections. Whether it was a warm place to stay, ideas on the best and safest route to take, or a kayak to cross a lake, I couldn’t have done it without their help. Or I might have died trying.

I arrived in Kimberly to a very warm welcome from my good friends Randy and Cyndy. I had worked with Randy in the past with the Canadian Wildlife Federation and he was always a big source of support. He had organized several different school visits in Kimberly and Cranbrook in addition to having a lovely house and bed for me to rest in.

I knew this area quite well as I had previously spent three summers in Cranbrook fighting forest fires for the BC Ministry of Forests. December in the Columbia valley was quite different from the hot summer months. Cranbrook is about a 28km bike ride from Kimberly and thankfully they have transitioned an old railway into a beautiful bike path. Unfortunately it was covered in snow and I didn’t have time to ski, so I bicycled along the highway. I arrived in Cranbrook with time to spare before my school presentations. This was good because I was freezing and covered in snow.

After several great school visits and lunch with an old firefighting buddy I was invited to the teacher's Christmas party. I couldn’t refuse and was offered a place to stay at one of the teacher's houses to save me from a dangerous return trip on the snowy and dark highway. The next morning the husband of one of the teachers did an interview with me for the local T.V. station and filmed me as I biked off back towards Kimberly.

I enjoyed many amazing meals with Randy and Cyndy and also had the pleasure of meeting their children and friends. I presented at some great schools in Kimberly and met a pretty amazing little explorer at one of them. He had recently returned from a journey that took him from his home to Nepal without flying in a plane. His dad , Bruce Kirkby, is a well known adventurer and they created a T.V. show about the experience, Big Crazy Family Adventure. Bruce has since been a helpful source of guidance for me.

My time in Kimberly was short lived but I had great company with me as I skied out of town west into the Purcell Mountains. My friend Dave Quinn, another experienced adventurer, showed me an easy route to take. He also had a great chance to see just how inexperienced of a skier I was. We skied up to St. Mary’s lake where I had spent many days climbing in previous summers. The lake was frozen so we were able to ski on it and find rest at a friends beautiful off grid house. I’m guessing he was a bit worried about me the next day when he needed to return home and I skied solo up into the mountains towards Grey Creek Pass.

I passed some parked trucks and followed some snowmobile tracks up a snow covered forest service road. After skiing up and up for a few hours I was almost plowed down by teenagers on the sleds who had paved the way for me. They were surprised to see a solo skier heading up into the mountains without a snowmobile. I told one of them what I was doing and continued up. I thought I was making good progress but I didn’t arrive at the pass until dark.

Dave had told me, as best as he could remember, the whereabouts of a hut where I could find a stove and some warmth for the night. I skied up and down a steep slope three times without finding anything. After an hour I was ready to call it quits and dig a pit in a tree well, but the freezing cold wind helped me to muster the strength to continue searching for the simple comforts of a plywood cabin. I skied up the steep slope once more without finding anything amongst the pine trees. I turned around to head back down and as I did so my headlight caught a glimpse of an unnatural sight. I was glowing with relief to find the cabin.

I then needed to dig out the three feet of snow that were blocking the door. It was a small undertaking for a giant reward. The cabin was simple but it had a stove for warmth and cooking as well as some comfy foam to sleep on. I passed out hard after eating some pasta and vegetables.

The next day I awoke excited and a bit nervous for a long downhill ride. I was nervous because I still had yet to figure out the telemark skiing technique. I was about to teach myself with a backpack on while going down unfamiliar terrain. I decided to stick with the narrow forest road as opposed to skiing through the trees. It might not have been the best idea as it was difficult to stop when the road became steep and there was either a ditch, a cliff, or trees preventing me from turning to a stop. I bailed awkwardly a few times and was lucky to laugh it off without a dislocated knee.

As I rounded one of the bends in the road I found myself staring into the eyes of a cow moose and her calf. I normally wouldn’t have been afraid but Dave had told me a story the day before of how a moose had repeatedly charged him and some friends, and came close to trampling his wife while nearly destroying his snowmobile. I stopped and sent peaceful non-threatening thoughts their way while hoping they would continue to walk out of my path downhill. They left the road and as I skied past the place where they disappeared behind a tree I was prepared to duck and dodge an angry moose. I passed unharmed.

It took a few hours to ski all the way down to where the snow started to disappear and I began to walk with my skis on my backpack. I had purposefully chosen boots that would be comfortable to walk in. After about 20 minutes walking downhill I turned onto the highway and was delighted to see someone walking towards me with a lifejacket on.

Dave had put me in touch with his friend Ann-Marie who was waiting on the shores of Kootenay Lake with two kayaks for us to paddle across. I was amazed and stoked at how smooth this tranistion came together. Within minutes my skis were strapped on top of a kayak and we were paddling out onto the beautiful yet freezing lake. I looked back up the valley I had skied down and felt like I was on some adventure relay race.

I’m glad it wasn’t a race as I was able to enjoy the paddle with Ann-marie. Nobody else was out on the lake for good reason. It was snowing and we were struggling to keep our fingers and toes warm.

After four hours crossing the lake and paddling up the West Arm to Nine Mile, we were met by Ann-Marie’s partner Sandra and a surpirse appearance from my friend Kat on the shore. So cool as I had no idea they knew each other. We had a lovely dinner and I was invited to stay at their place for another night, even though they were heading away for christmas with their family.

The next day I paddled solo up the arm to Nelson to stay at Kat’s place. It was Christmas eve and I was invited to join my friends Kevin and Kristie at their place for a lovely dinner with them and Kevin’s parents. After dinner I walked up the hill to see some family friends from Toronto who had all migrated out to Nelson. I also joined them the following day for Christmas festivities. It felt so great to spend Christmas with warm and familiar folks.

I left Nelson on boxing day by skiing along the railroad tracks. I remembered the movie “Stand by me” and made sure to check the tracks for vibrations every once in a while...hehe. One train passed me at dusk and I could actually see it’s lights coming around a corner before I could hear it. I had plenty of time to get well out of the way as it chugged slowly by.

I was hoping to find somewhere warm to stay that night but when I asked people, nobody had any ideas. I was sort of hoping someone would have pity on me and offer up a couch, but instead I found some cover behind the local fire station. I started a fire and was ready to deal with the sirens if they came.

The next morning Kat and my friends Sibylla and Chris joined me for a nice flat journey along the groomed ski trail from Crescent Valley to Winlaw. I was then on my own for a 7km walk to meet my Nephew Heron and his family. It was a great finish to another beautiful day on the trail.

Winlaw was a bit north from my planned route so the next day I backtracked about 20 km to meet and stay with Kat’s aunt and husband, Annalie and Victor. I can’t put to words how grateful I am for all the people who have hosted and fed me like I was family. It made all of Canada feel like one big family.

The skis were back on the next morning as I headed deep into a new mountain range. I was a bit bummed I didn’t find anyone to join me for this leg as I would have liked to take a more interesting route across the Valhalla Mountains. I instead stuck to the much safer backcountry roads. I came to a campground in the early afternoon and decided to have a short day of skiing and enjoy camplife. The site was called Grizzly Creek but considering it was covered in snow and almost January, I was hoping and expecting that the big bears would all be fast asleep.

I believe these are wolf tracks.

I dug out a nice big spot under a tree and went about gathering wood for a fire. It was not an easy task in the deep snow. Much of the wood was covered in ice and there wasn’t much dead stuff, not surprising considering it was a campsite in the summer. I managed to gather a substantial amount of wood after an hour or so of searching and falling in the deep snow. I then spent the next two hours attempting to start a fire. The wood was all saturated with rain on the inside and ice on the outside. I was freezing by the time I finally got the thing started.

I woke up early the next day which happened to be New Years eve. I wasn’t planning on completing the crossing of this mountain range in two days but the thought of a celebration with people made me consider it. I skied up and up into the stunning Valhallas. Untracked fresh snow is great for downhills but it makes climbing much more challenging and exhausting. Nonetheless, I made it to the top of the pass with the sun still up in the sky. It was the most beautiful skiing of the entire trip. The snow was sparkling pure and untouched. The trees had been decorated beautifully with the recent dump of the frozen white water.

As i skied down from the pass the sky began to turn yellow, then orange, and finally a spectacular red. I left the road that I had been following and skied down a clearing that had been made for elecrtrical lines. It was nice to get some big sweeping turns in on fresh powder. It then started to get dark and became hard to distinguish terrain features. I rejoined the road and the fairly consistent track of it. I made it to the bottom just as it was becoming too dangerous to continue skiing.The snow had melted on the road so I strapped the skiis to my back and began walking.

It was a much longer walk then I had estimated. it ended up being about a 15km slog to arrive in the sleepy town of Fauqier. There appeared to be only one store in town and it was closed. I kept my ears and eyes open for where the big New Years Eve party was happening but I didn’t see or hear anything. There was a motel in town that showed zero signs of life.

I found some potential cabins for rent online and walked back out of town towards them. I came to the place where the map said they would be but I didn’t see a sign. There was some small cabins and a main house so I walked up to the house to inquire. A man came to the door and I asked him if there was a cabin for rent. He said no but welcomed me in for a drink. His twenty something son was with him and they seemed pleasant and a wee bit strange.

After feeding me well, we sat down and I explained in more detail what I was doing. After a short time the father started probing me with the same questions over and over again. I began to feel a bit uncomfortable and looked to his son for an explanation but he just gave me a glance of apology. The father seemed to be paranoid about my presence and this feeling continued as we brought in the new years together. I wanted to leave but the offer of a warm bed was too tough to turn down. It was a weird and thankfully not foreboding way to bring in the New Year.

I awoke in 2016 to a pleasant email from the owner of the cottages that I was in search of the night before. They were welcoming me to stay with them and happy to support me on my expedition. They were located in the property next to where I was. This was a bit disturbing considering these folks had told me that no such cottages existed. I thanked them for their hospitality and got out of there fast.

The Arrow Beach Cottages were perfect. The owners welcomed me to stay in a beautiful log cabin with a lovely bathtub! I spent two nights there in bliss and enjoyed a lovely dinner with them. They even helped me out with a kayak to cross Arrow lake with. It was another smooth transition to meet my sister in law Marta for the ski to Vernon.

Big Huge thanks to MEC for making the Ski Across BC possible. Their clothing and ski gear kept me warm and comfortable as I crossed the province.

]]>Ski Across BC - 2 - Raft to an Ice Dam!Markus PukonenThu, 17 Dec 2015 12:48:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/ski-across-bc-and-raft-a-little-bit555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:571d1737d51cd4f1ca267015Apart from cycling on the suicidal highways this seemed to be the most
dangerous move of the trip.My buddy Todd will soon share something about his experience on this river trip with me. I suggested he do an interpretive dance but I imagine he will write something. In the meantime I will pick up the story below from where we parted ways.

As I drifted away from Todd on the bank of the river I was looking froward to a peaceful float down the Colombia valley towards Kimberly. Five minutes downstream I turned a large bend in the river and that peace was shattered. The river disappeared beneath an ice dam that stretched from bank to bank. I quickly went into high adrenaline survival mode and rowed as strong as I could to the nearest bank. I made it without problem onto a gently sloping sandbank. No worries.

I pulled the raft on shore and went on a reconnaissance mission. The river did open up again but it would be about a 500m walk in order to get to a suitable launching spot. I was grateful that Todd had left me so much food and extra supplies but now I would have to haul it all across the snow. The raft was also too heavy to carry assembled so I needed to take the solid and heavy steel frame out of it. It took five trips back and forth to move everything to the new launch spot. By that time, it was getting later in the day and I was happy to set up camp and relax.

I felt like I could have been in the middle of a remote northern Canadian mountain chain, but in reality I was only a short hike from the nearest highway. Thankfully I couldn’t hear it. The only sound I heard that night were the howls of wolves and the crackling of my fire. Pure beauty.

I climbed out of the tent the next morning and the reality of my next move struck me. In order to get the raft into the water I would need to push it out onto an ice sheet that bordered the icy and fast moving river. Apart from cycling on the suicidal highways this seemed to be the most dangerous move of the trip. If the ice broke or the raft was punctured, and I fell into the river, it would be paralyzingly cold and highly unlikely that I would be able to make it to the bank. Even if I did make it to the bank it was covered in thin ice or large chunky ice walls. Routes of Change just got real.

I managed to push the raft out with one foot on the ice and a knee on the raft. It seemed fairly safe in the end. Off I went row, row, rowing my boat down the icy stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, thinking of a sauna or steam.

I had only made it another kilometer or so before panic struck again. A fork in the river. Left went into a sharp bank with sharper dead trees sticking out of it like a death trap, certain to puncture the raft if not my head. Right looked more promising until I went that way and was immediately faced with another damn dam. This time the current was moving faster and no matter how hard I rowed I was at best able to hold my position. There was no safe looking spot to bring the raft to shore. Rowing frantically I decided I would try my best to ram the raft up onto an ice shelf on the near shore. It worked. Sort of. I was now half on an ice shelf, and wasn’t sure if it would hold me as I made a dash up on to the bank. With the bow line in hand I channeled my “light as a feather” moves as I scampered towards the meter high bank. I made it, and climbed up onto the solid ground.

The land was covered with brambles. I investigated my situation further and realized I was indeed on an island. Even if I somehow managed to get the raft back upstream and take the right fork, it looked as though it was not worth the risk of going through the death trap. I decided the best move was to relaunch on the other side of the island. As the island was heavily wooded and covered in brambles I would have to deflate the raft completely and reassemble it on the other side. It must have taken me two hours to move everything across the island. By the time the raft was inflated and ready to go again I was topless and sweating in -10 C weather.

At that point I contemplated the likelyhood of the river being dammed with ice a third time. The chances seemed high so I reluctantly called it quits on the river rafting trip and called in some assistance. My friend in Kimberly was quick to answer the call. He organized a bike for me to use and we planned to meet on the other side of the river. All I needed to do was row across and get to our planned meeting point.

Much easier said than done! The paddle across was smooth and fast but that is where things got tricky. The shore quickly rose up a steep bank to where we would meet. I again needed to take the raft apart and then scale the steep bank five times up and down. I was able to find some tiny goat trails that would meander and disappear as I climbed. The ground was a slippery consistency of frozen grass, snow, and ice. When it came to lifting up the main steel frame of the raft I was forced to create a pulley system with ropes in order to lift it up the steep slope.

It took an exhausting hour to get everything up. I had a few minutes to eat a snack and hydrate before my friends Randy and Cindy showed up with a very nice bike that Kootenay Mountain Works had amazingly hooked up. The raft would not fit in their car so unfortunately it was left in the woods for another buddy to retrieve. Some new friends did so without a problem the following day.

For me, however, the epic day was not over. I hopped on the bicycle for a 67 km bike ride as the sun began to set. It was by no means a pleasant bike ride as I was on a highway with many speeding cars in the middle of the Canadian winter. As it got dark my energy started to dwindle but I was inspired by the fact that good company, a big dinner, and a warm bed were waiting for me. I powered through the snow and rolled into Kimberly, somewhat numb and very happy to have friends in warm places.

Thanks again to MEC for keeping me warm and toasty on the river with my merino wool!

]]>Ski across BC part 1 - The RockiesMarkus PukonenWed, 16 Dec 2015 00:07:00 +0000https://routesofchange.org/blog/ski-across-bc555822ffe4b0d9e3a58dc94d:55635c52e4b0cc18bc6b3ab1:57156d50a3360ca1d477d38cI was far from lost, I just didn’t know where the trail was…WARNING: As with most things I do, I highly recommend you do not follow my lead. Take lessons, get experience, be confident in your ability to deal with the worst case scenario. I have survived for months in some of the most inhospitable and challenging conditions and because of this I am comfortable suffering due to my lack of experience and knowledge. It may not be the best approach, but to me it’s worth the sacrifice. Safety first!

When you hear of someone attempting to ski across the Rockies and the rest of British Columbia you would likely think that the person is a bit nuts and also a very experienced skier. Upon hearing that I was fairly inexperienced the “bit” was lost and to many people I became just nuts. As with lot’s of the adventures I go on it’s easy to uncover the fears of people who don’t have the experience, the health, or the toughness to do what I do. It’s much easier to find people to discourage you from taking risks than it is to find people who say “go for it! You’ll be fine.” Those words often come from an experienced person who will also offer some advice on how not to kill yourself or do it more comfortable etc…I love these people and wish there was more of them everywhere I went.

Thankfully I found the perfect person in Canmore. As mentioned in this previous blog Don Gardner hooked me up with some essential knowledge and advice. MEC supplied me with the essential gear and I was soon ready to head up into the Backcountry of the Rocky Mountains. I could have walked or skinned straight from the door of my buddy Christian’s place in Canmore but instead I was easily convinced to borrow a friends friend’s fat bike. I rode up 40 or so km and saved myself a day or two of tough skiing. Not to say the bike was easy.

I arrived at a lodge where it was planned I would leave my bike for a friend to come get and return it to Canmore. It worked out that someone from the lodge was on their way back to town and tossed it in the back of their truck. Big thanks to all involved in that smooth transition.

The moment of truth had arrived. I put on my skis and off I went into the previously unknown world of long distance solo cross mountain range ski touring. I was yet to learn how to telemark apart from some silly youtube videos. Now I was going to learn the hard way with a backpack and unpredictable terrain days away from the nearest help. My plan was to take it slow, avoid steep slopes and avalanche terrain. Whether I had the knowledge and navigational skills in order to do this effectively was yet to be decided. I felt pretty good and confident though.

Usually at the start of a backpacking trip you are quickly left wondering why you are carrying so much weight. In this situation I was left wondering if I was carrying enough weight! My backpack was very light. 30lbs. Would I be warm enough? Did I have enough food? Had I estimated my travel time correctly? Would my sense of direction be good enough to get me over these mountains in time to meet my friend and not starve to death? These questions were present but not overwhelming. My overwhelming thought was one of relief and pride in making this leg of the trip a reality. I didn’t have a doubt that I would succeed. The tough part was over. I had now started to ski across BC.

Was I scared? Yes. I was in a very unfamiliar situation by myself. I felt at home in the mountains but I had never spent much time surviving in them in the winter. Now I was planning on doing just that in a way that very few people do. No tent. No stove. Just a bivy sack, a warm sleeping bag, an air mattress, and a pot to put on the fire that I hoped to start every night and most mornings.

The first night worked out well. I found a nice spot under some trees without too much snow and was able to quickly start a fire. I cooked up some pasta and passed out. My heat reflective air mattress inside my bivy (bivouac sac) and a sleeping bag rated to -18 kept me toasty warm. The next morning I would quickly discover the main issues with bivy sacs, condensation. I woke up with a layer of frost on the outside of my sleeping bag but still inside the bivy. This would be a regular occurrence for the rest of the trip and a potentially dangerous one. If I wasn’t careful I could quickly end up with a wet sleeping bag. Sleeping in an ice cube doesn’t work very well.

While still partially in my sleeping bag I put on my clothes and stuck my warm feet into my frozen boots. A memory of my first (and only other) winter camping trip flashed back. It was also in the Rockies and the temperature had unexpectedly dropped to -25 in October. I had learnt (through discovery and necessity) to build a wall on the other side of your fire to reflect the heat back at you. It was a fun trip and I escaped with only some very minor frostbite on my toes. I also learnt to make a hot water bottle and keep it at your feet when you sleep. My feet get cold…

I left my campsite looking like nothing more than a patch of ground where the snow had melted. Take only photos, leave only footprints. I skied off down the trail for another km or so to where I came to a fork. The well skied path went right. My path went left and was free of any tracks. You might think that it would be nice to have your own fresh snow to travel in but that’s really only the case when your going downhill. There was a short uphill to start and I spent more energy going up the 10 metre slope than I had over the whole past km. This was not going to be easy.

On the flat ground I was able to get a smooth rhythm going and felt good about my progress. I was feeling free and wild but I also had a bit of urgency to my step. Knowing just how slow progress could be in uneven terrain I knew I had to move fast or starve. Why didn’t I pack a few extra energy bars…

The trail soon opened up into a large snow covered meadow. It was nice to have a view. Unfortunately I didn’t have a view of where the trail continued to after the meadow. I must have gone back and forth 4 times on trails that lead me into streams or thick impassable forest before I decided to navigate down what seemed to be the best option. I was far from lost, I just didn’t know where the trail was…

I knew I had to go up the valley into another meadow so I just started up what looked like the most promising open patch of forest. Not a great idea. I should have looked a bit better for the trail. It was fine to start but after climbing over a few downed trees with skis on it was clear that it would have been much much faster to stick to a well cleared trail.

I eventually made it up through the forested hillside and into a clearing. It was a relief as I was sure that the trail passed through what would be a beautiful alpine meadow in the summer. I found some flagging to confirm that I was on a trail. It was cold and windy at this altitude. I was forced to decide whether to continue up and over a pass or to find shelter nearby. The thought of sleeping somewhere exposed to the wind and without a fire made the decision easy. I found some big trees nearby and started to shovel out a spot to lay my bivy sack down and start a fire. By the time my dinner of noodles and vegetables was ready to eat I was feeling nauseous with an upset stomach. I had pushed myself hard that day and had drank some reishi mushroom tea mixed with chocolate. I figured my body was a bit confused.

I slept heavy that night and awoke to a thick ice blanket on my sleeping bag. It didn’t bother me much as I was still warm and cozy. I needed to get moving though as I was down to my last day of food and had many km’s to cover. I followed the trail out into the meadow and searched for where it returned into the forest. It wasn’t easy to find. After going back and forth several times I decided on what looked to be the most clear opening. The trail immediately started switchbacking as it climbed up towards a ridge. It was steep enough that it left me with loads of doubt about whether it was actually the trail or just a mountain goat path. Then for the first time in my life I was very delighted to see a sawed off log. It was a clear sign that this trail had been cleared by humans and I figured it was unlikely there would be randomly cleared trails leading to somewhere other than where I was heading. I breathed a short sigh of relief.

It was not long before I was searching once again for the trail. It took too much energy and time to not be directing my energy in exactly the place I wanted to be heading. I decided to rely on the compass in my head and used the terrain as a map to guide me up over the pass and down into the steep valley on the other side. I was slightly nervous and excited for my first real downhill of the journey. Cautious not to gain too much speed I started down in fresh powder. Unfortunately the open terrain quickly closed up and I found myself on a narrow trail running along side a steep gully. Having never telemark skied before I found it tricky to turn and slow down on the open slopes, now I would have to figure out how to slow down on a two foot wide path. I realized the best approach was to put the skins back on my skis in order to slow my downhill progress.

It was working well and I thought I was on the trail until I approached a steep and cliffy section that dropped into the gully piled high with ice and a small stream running in the depths. A fall or slide into it would be disastrous. If I didn’t hurt myself on the fall I would certainly be soaked with icy water and it would be a challenging climb to get out of the icy depths. I managed to successfully traverse an avalanche path and return to the perceived safety and protection of the forest.

The downhill was not nearly as fun or as fast as I had been looking forward to. This trail was never traveled in the winter and was not maintained in the summer. Every 100 metres or so a large tree had fallen across the trail and I was faced with a challenging climb with skis flailing all over the place.

It took many more hours than expected but I finally came to an opening in the forest. It was another first for me. The first time I’ve ever been happy to see clearcuts in the forest. I would now have the chance to ski downhill on forest service roads. Stoked. I started downhill feeling rejuvenated and comfortable about the open skiing prospects ahead. It only took a few minutes for those feelings to be shattered. To my dismay the forestry operations were still active in the middle of winter and a truck had recently scattered rocks all over the road in order to make it safe for trucks to drive on. Thankfully it seemed that the rocks were only on the steeper hills on the road, unfortunately that is when I would be going fastest and a fall would be more disastrous.

At first it was manageable as the rocks were black and clearly visible. Then they switched to white and the light of day was fading. It would have been best for me and my skis to walk the downhill portions but I couldn’t afford to do that as it would have taken way to much time. I was set on arriving at the lodge where it was planned that I would meet my friend Todd. I skied on. At one point on a steeper downhill my right ski caught a large rock that whipped the ski behind my back and threw me off balance. I went careening into the ditch and ended up with one ski in front of me and one behind my head. After the shock and frustration faded I was amazed. Miraculously I wasn’t hurt. I continued down the excessively logged valley.

I made it to the bottom of what seemed like the final significant downhill for the day just as it was getting dark. I felt like I had made it through the worst but I still had 25km to ski and I was already running on reserves. I skied up and down the road as it paralleled a large river. It quickly became dark. I was out of water and had a small bag of candy to sustain me. I started having small tastes of snow as I slogged along towards the lodge that I hoped would appear around every corner. I passed a sign saying that I was now out of the avalanche danger zone. Good to know I was out of the zone. I didn’t know when I had entered it.

Hours later as I was estimating my location and distance traveled I started questioning whether I had accidentally passed my turnoff. I was mustering up all the strength I could to keep moving and that seemed to mean that my head was often looking down at my skis and potential hazards. I was exhausted and was close to rolling over in the ditch and falling asleep in my bivy sack for the night. The thought of seeing my buddy, a warm bed, and a feast kept my head up and moving. I then saw what looked like a light far off in the distance and it appeared to turn off the road. I seriously wasn’t sure if I was hallucinating. I was alert enough to question the fact but not alert enough to know for sure. I skied on.

A couple kilometres down the road I saw another light appearing out of the forest. To my delight it was my buddy and the owner of the lodge on a quad coming to look for me. I was brought to tears. I hugged my buddy and refused the offer for a ride to the lodge. I was clearly a bit out of it as they kept asking if I was okay. I may have been hallucinating but I wasn’t about to get on a motorized vehicle.

Big thanks to MEC for their expedition support! MEC.ca was the only place around where I could find what I needed to make this happen.

Huge thanks to Nipika Mountain Resort and my buddy Todd for giving me a destination that night. It's a great place to visit www.nipika.com